


i saw the whole story unwind

by pocky_slash



Series: Team Shithead [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Arguing, Banter, Birthday, Class Issues, Compromise, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, First Meetings, Gen, Ghost Hunters, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Male Friendship, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 132,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Alexander's popular parapsychology blog helped him crowdfund his way to America and into college. Now, after graduating early, he finds himself accepted into the most prestigious parapsych grad program in the world. He's going to study and hunt ghosts under the tutelage of George Washington, just like he predicted in his ten year plan. What he didn't predict was stumbling into the best friendships he's ever had and falling in love, but he can't say he's complaining.</p><p>(AKA the one where they're all grad students ostensibly studying ghosts, but mostly having a lot of feelings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Before

**Author's Note:**

> First off: **This story is complete and will update Mondays and Fridays from now until September 30.**
> 
> H'OKAY. Hi, welcome to the past nine months of my life. This story started as a joke based on a Yuletide prompt my bestie **pearl_o** saw--haha, the Hamilton characters as ghost hunters, HOW HILARIOUSLY WEIRD.
> 
> And then like, five minutes later, I said, "OKAY, BUT IF I WERE WRITING THIS...."
> 
> I started with a casefic, the characters investigating a haunting in the early part of their second year of ghost hunting grad school, and quickly realized I needed backstory. Two chapters of backstory turned into four turned into an extra fic turned into two extra fics. This verse is literally all I've been working on, fic-wise, for nine months. This story, “i saw the whole story unwind,” is only the first third of what I have written, but it’s complete, so I’m starting to post it. 
> 
> Thank you so much to **firstbreaths** , **littledust** , **coffeesuperhero** , and **caphairdadbeard** for reading through all 130k words of the first story in this verse. I seriously could not have done this without you. Thanks to **weesaw** for cheerleading when I was at my lowest, thanks to **anachronistique** for listening to me blather on about this verse even though she really doesn't care about John Laurens XD
> 
> I'll save the other notes for individual chapters. Jesus, this thing is so long I feel like I have a novel's worth of commentary to leave. I really hope you enjoy this! It's really a labor of love, and there's a lot more to come!

It was just after Alexander's third legal guardian in as many years died that he realized if he wanted to escape his circumstances and live a better life, he was going to have to do it himself.

He was thirteen.

His mother was dead and his father--if James Hamilton even was his father--had disappeared, leaving Alex, his late mother, and his brother in massive debt. Alex's half-brother from his mother's first marriage had taken everything their mother owned out of spite and malice. He hadn't even wanted it and hadn't cared that it was all Alex and James had left from their mother. He auctioned it off before their eyes, not even allowing them to keep mementos. Alex and James were forced out of the only home they knew and sent to live with a cousin named Peter they had never met. The only remainders of the first twelve years of Alex's life were the clothes on his back and the thirty-four books that his Uncle James, Peter's father, was kind enough to buy back from auction for Alex.

Cousin Peter turned out to be a fairly unfit guardian for two young boys under fifteen. For the first two weeks they were under his care, he was inattentive and distant, barely putting forth effort to make sure they were adjusting and not bothering at all to comfort their grieving. If Alexander were older or less wrapped up in his own loss, he may have noticed something was wrong. As it was, he and James came home from school one day to a house that seemed quiet and empty only to discover that Peter had taken his own life in the upstairs bathroom. 

From there, they were to be sent off to Peter's father, a change that Alex welcomed. He'd hoped that Uncle James would take them from the start--in their few interactions after his mother's death, Uncle James had been kind to Alexander and keenly interested in Alex's intellect and love of learned. Unfortunately, fate still wasn't on Alex's side; Uncle James died of a heart attack before he could finish signing the adoption paperwork. Alex and his brother were officially wards of the state.

That was the last Alex saw of his brother James. It wasn't a tearful goodbye--Alex was done wasting tears on his family, on anyone or anything, really. He had learned by now that nothing was guaranteed, nothing could be counted on, and he knew better than to get his hopes up about anything ever again. James Jr. was fostered out to strangers on the other side of the island, and Alex's budding frustration, brilliant mind, smart mouth, and scrawny body were saved from a group home by his late mother's boss. Thomas Stevens took Alexander in and treated him, if not quite as his own, than at least as a human being with feelings and agency. He had a son, Ned, who was quick to treat Alexander with a kindness he hadn't felt from other kids his age in quite some time.

Alex lived with the Stevens family and, almost immediately, began working for Mr. Stevens under the table. He kept a bag packed, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, and he waited for the moment his new life was all going to fall out from under him.

It didn't. Because Alexander Hamilton fell in love in the back room of Beekman and Cruger.

Not with a person--at thirteen, Alex was too worried about how long he was going to have a bed to sleep in to focus on hormones--but with the contents, charge, and clientele of Beekman and Cruger. Mr. Stevens was a parapsychologist, and Beekman and Cruger was a paranormal book shop, research repository, and repair shop. It was the only one of any of those things on their island and as such, a gathering place for all the researchers, investigators, and authenticants. Before he was old enough to work the cash register, he put the books in order, helped Mr. Stevens make small repairs on spirit boxes and EMF meters, read every book in the shop, and eavesdropped on conversations about manifestations, entities, disturbances, and residual hauntings.

Alex had seen the Warren Broadcast on the internet at school, though it occurred long before he was born. Technically, as it was a public school, their teachers were only supposed to share the bare facts--that Ed and Lorraine Warren were being interviewed for a national news magazine, that they weren't even demonstrating their work, but rather explaining their equipment to the reporter when something attacked Ed. The video showed the rest--Lorraine chanting incantations, flashing a cross, somehow beating back the entity, which appeared on camera as a dark, hulking shape. It was broadcast nationally in the US and live, and many saw it as the final proof that spirits existed.

Alex's teacher was a minister, though. He was a believer, or, in parapsychology terms, an authenticant, someone who embraced the copious hard evidence of ghosts and hauntings. When the video was over, instead of moving on or talking about the changes that came out of the Warren Broadcast, the legislation and development of exorcism as a social service, he talked about further proof of spirit presence since then. He talked about faith and evidence and the intermingling of science and religion. He talked about all the other advances and the development of parapsychology as a field.

"All of science is an exploration of the unknown, a quest to use the facts we have to discover the nature of the facts we don't," his teacher said. "But parapsychology is the study of the unknown itself. We're looking for solutions to and rules for things that it's unlikely we'll ever understand, things that we have to take on faith. No one knows where spirits come from or how they get here or why they're here. In a world where there are fewer mysteries every day, there's something beautiful about being able to find concrete answers to unknowable questions."

Most of the class was bored. Alex was fascinated. He could see the beauty in it too, beauty and something like relief. In Alex's endless thirst for knowledge, being assured that there were things that would always be unknown was comforting. Instead of making him frustrated or angry the way he got when his teachers couldn't explain the intricacies of how things worked, the unexplainable felt like breathing room and, somewhat incongruously, it made him eager to absorb everything about the paranormal he could get his hands on. In the back room of Beekman and Cruger, finally confident that the other shoe wasn't going to drop, he threw himself into studying it with all his strength. 

He stayed late reading and took books home with Mr. Stevens' blessing. After he had finished all the books in the store, he started using the computer in the back room of the shop to look up additional information online. He pored over websites, wikis, forums, and blogs. He watched videos on YouTube. And he began to notice there were connections that people were missing, developments in Taiwan that could further research in Vancouver, experiments in Geneva that had consequences for theories in Mumbai. He started to pull them together on a blog he made to organize his thoughts and express his theories to the world. He wrote under a pseudonym to hide the fact that he was a poor fourteen year old boy in the Caribbean who had never seen a disturbance of any kind. For his first entry, "Athenodorus" posted a specific takedown of Samuel Seabury's much-linked skepticism manifesto, and thus called the blog "The Skeptic Refuted." To his surprise,three months into his blogging career, he had thousands of subscribers.

Of course, internet fame didn't come without its downsides. While parapsychology was a respected science in most circles, there were a growing number of skeptics making themselves known as a vocal minority. A very vocal minority. Skepticism was at its strongest immediately preceding the Warren Broadcast--there were men going into space, diseases being cured, elements being discovered. Funding for parapsych programs was low; people wanted a science they could touch, fields that were about exploring what was possible, not examining the impossible. Many people didn't believe in spirits unless they had experienced a haunting themselves. Photos, audio, even video could be doctored. It didn't help that parapsych was still largely studied by women and seen as the softest of sciences. 

Seeing a manifestation live on television led to a surge in funding for parapsych programs, as well as a surge in respectability for parapsych work. The practical side of parapsychology, the actual hunting of and banishing of spirits by investigative parapsychologists, went from being characterized as a bunch of charlatans taking money from the gullible to a noble and dangerous public service. Academic parapsychology, people in labs studying ways to interact with spirits and attempting the discover where they came from and why, were no longer deluded mad scientists, but dedicated scientific explorers on the cutting edge of discovery.

Skepticism gained traction again as time went on and the Warren Broadcast went from something people had just seen with their own eyes to a distant memory or something out of a history book. Originally strong proponents of parapsychology from a more religious angle, far-right conservatives began to question the validity of the science, claiming the reported rise in manifestations over the years was nonsense cooked up by fraudulent scientists who wanted to make money off of people's panic. The religious right, too, slowly came out against it, claiming that there was only heaven, hell, and earth, which left no place for spirits. 

They were mostly seen as fringe weirdos, brushed off by anyone with sense like climate deniers or anti-vaxxers, but their subculture was alive and well in internet forums. Alex very quickly learned to moderate his comments--every blog post that got picked up by the larger parapsych community and passed around on Twitter led dozens of skeptics, frothing at the mouth, to his essays. And, while he was happy to spend time refuting everything they said and shutting down their arguments, it made the comments a hostile environment for his followers.

Real life often wasn't much better. Alex's teenage friends started and stopped with Ned Stevens. Ned's friends were happy to include Alex in their activities when he had time, but he would usually rather be at the shop, talking to regulars and brainstorming ideas for future blog posts. Sitting around with a bunch of old men didn't do much for his popularity and Ned's interventions could only go so far. More than one bully cornered Alex, scrawny and the opposite of athletic, outside of school and told him what they thought of his hobby with their fists. It was honestly more frustrating than demoralizing--he didn't care what a bunch of skeptic assholes said or thought about him, but there was only so much he could do to hide the bruises from his foster family and getting the shit beat out of him was just one more petty annoyance keeping him from his work, much like school and socialization and sleeping.

So he did his best to leave all of that behind and concentrate on writing. He wrote to stretch his mind, which was bored by a school system that couldn't keep up with him. He wrote to forget where he came from. He wrote because he was obsessed, fascinated, entranced. He went to school and he wrote and he worked and he wrote and he listened and he wrote and he read and he wrote. His pageviews and popularity soared, and he upgraded to better hosting and a dedicated domain name, both secured with Mr. Stevens credit card with the understanding that Alex would pay him back. Soon enough, not only was Mr. Stevens paid in full, but the site's advertising returns began to be more than enough to cover the cost of the monthly webhosting that was pulled from Alex's meagre bank account. He started to think that maybe there was a way off the island and out into the larger world.

The local paranormal buffs were impressed, Mr. Stevens most of all.

"You know," he said to Alexander one day as they closed up the shop, "you're wasted on this island. You could be doing so much more than cleaning a shop."

"Thank you, Mr. Stevens," Alex said. "That means a lot coming from you. But even with a full ride, I'd never be able to afford to get out of here." He tried not to sound bitter as he said it; the Stevenses had been incredibly generous, gone above and beyond their duties as foster parents. Alex wasn't frustrated with them so much as his luck.

"Well," Mr. Stevens said slowly, "I can't make any promises, but the shop has been doing well these past few years. If it continues... we might be able to help you out."

Alex froze.

"Mr. Stevens," he said after a moment, "I can't ask that of you."

"You haven't," Mr. Stevens said. "I'm offering. Potentially. You're almost done with school now--give it another year like this one, maybe two, and we'll sit down and see what we can do."

For the first time since in as long as he could remember, Alex started to have hope for his future.

And then it was all destroyed.

Not literally, of course. Alex's blogposts and data and essays were all safe in the cloud. But the world around Alex--the Stevens' house, Beekman and Cruger, the island he called home--were all nearly flattened when a hurricane rolled through the Caribbean, destroying everything in its path. His foster family fared better than many--their house and the shop were still standing. But there was damage to be repaired. Clean-up to be done. Stock to be replaced.

There was no extra money to be had. There was no reason for Alex to finish his college applications.

In a fit of anger and pique, Alex made a rare personal entry on his blog. He wrote a winding confessional essay, pouring out as many details as he could manage without giving away his name, age, or exact circumstances. He wrote about the way his heart broke seeing his home destroyed, even if part of him resented being stuck there. He wrote about the destruction all around him, ruined property and lost lives. He wrote about his dashed dreams--the depletion of his savings as he and his foster family struggled to rebuild. He wrote about the despair he'd never quite been able to shake, the death and disaster that hung over him like a cloud.

He stopped after a few thousand words and hit post without even re-reading. He figured he could always delete it in the morning. He had work to do, even if he knew it would be a long time before the local parapsych buffs came back to trade anecdotes and jokes around the table in the front.

He and Mr. Stevens finished what they could of the clean up and returned home. In the morning, faced with more inventory and work orders, Alex booted up the back room computer and checked his email.

He was still staring in shock when Mr. Stevens back into the back room ten minutes later.

_Athenodorus, that sounds horrible. I can't even imagine what you and your family are going through. Do you have a PayPal? There's no donate button on the site and I want to send something your way._

_+11111!! You're a frigging gift to this community, man. We can't let mother nature keep you down._

_Oh, Athenodorus, this was just beautiful and heart-breaking. I'm so sorry that you're going through this and I'm in awe of how vibrantly you manage to describe it despite everything on your mind. You're brilliant, and I hope you get a chance to get that certification. If you put up a tip jar or something, let us know ♥_

_What can we do? How can we help? Do you have a GoFundMe?_

There were already over three hundred comments on his post. There were at least a dozen personal emails from regular readers offering their help and suggesting crowdfunding sites. He was so overwhelmed, he didn't even know where to start reading.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Stevens asked. "Is the internet down again?"

"No," Alex said. He couldn't look away from the screen. "No. Um... I wrote about the hurricane on my blog before we left last night and people responded. A lot of people. They want to help. They want to send me money." He moved back from the computer so Mr. Stevens could see properly. Mr. Stevens scrolled through the messages silently for a moment, then looked back to Alexander.

"This is amazing, Alexander," he said. "And well deserved, given how many people use your site as a resource."

"I don't know what to do," Alex said. He couldn't just...take money from people. Not without giving them something in return. Could he?

"Well," Mr. Stevens said, "let's finish emptying that front bookshelf, and we can talk about it."

Alex nodded and stood up from the desk, following Mr. Stevens out to the front room. As he mechanically emptied the shelves, he went over the options in his mind. He wasn't anyone's charity case. He hated pity--he hated the way that people looked at him when they heard about his parents, his cousin, his uncle. He hated the way his teachers and classmates looked at him after they discovered he was a foster kid, living on the goodwill of a family friend without anything he could really call his own. Even living with the Stevens family grated him, occasionally. He liked Ned and he appreciated that Mr. and Mrs. Stevens seemed to care about him, but every time he saw the check from child services or had a visit with a social worker, he remembered that all the affection and goodwill in the world didn't stop Alex from being little more than a business transaction between the Stevenses and the government. He had done his best to prove that he was more than that--he worked as hard as he could, went above and beyond expectations to show that he was useful, that he was worth the investment, the effort, but there was only so much he can accomplish as a poor teenager on a claustrophobic little island.

But, now that he had put some thought into it, by that same reasoning, he didn't owe the people on the internet anything. His website was something he provided free of cost. He was an invaluable resource--he'd been told that dozens of times by strangers who had no idea who he was. He provided crucial support to the community and didn't take anything in return. 

If he held a fundraiser, it would be like back pay for the free work he'd been doing for three years. It would give him a chance to get off the island, to earn a degree, to make his way in a field where he knew he could excel. It would allow him to give even more back to the community in the future, like an investment. It would even allow him to repay his debt to the Stevens family. 

If he stayed on the island forever, he had gone nearly as far as he could go. If he accepted this compensation, he could do much more, be worth much more. He could prove himself, leave behind something worth remembering, show the whole world there was a reason the universe hadn't been able to kill him yet.

That afternoon, Mr. Stevens helped him work out a plan. He would set up a crowdfunding site and accept donations, which he'd put towards his college application fees, his own computer, and airfare to the US. Anything that went beyond his current needs would be put in a savings account for college fees, living expenses, and anything else not covered by the scholarships and financial aid he would need to attend any college worth its salt. He also insisted on giving a percentage back to the Stevens family to help fix up Beekman and Cruger.

That night, he ate his dinner in front of the computer while Mr. Stevens did one last sweep of the front room. He launched the campaign and opened up his long-delayed, half-finished college applications. By the time he'd finished the common application, he'd already raised enough money to submit it to every university on his list.

It was strange and humbling and almost enough to restore the hope he thought had been long extinguished.

* * *

The prevailing narrative of America to Alexander, the one he grew up with, was that of a place where anyone can make something of themselves. A nation of immigrants who strove to stand for liberty and freedom, to create a place where people could start over and achieve their dreams.

Of course, all of that was much easier if you're a rich, white man, and unfortunately, Alexander only fit into one of those categories.

He raised enough money to get to America. He was accepted to every college he applied to on the strength of his essay and recommendation letters alone, before his stellar transcripts even arrived. The moment he was secure in that information, he created a detailed ten year plan.

Step one: attend Princeton University and obtain a degree in Parapsychology in five semesters. Six if things get tight. A parapsych BA wasn't crucial to getting into a graduate program and he was pretty sure that he'd already learned most of the material covered by it from the books at Beekman and Cruger, but he needed to start somewhere.

Step two: get accepted to the doctoral program in Parapsychology at Morristown University of New Jersey. Morristown was definitely the best parapsych program in the country, if not the world. 

Step three: win over Dr. George Washington as an advisor. George Washington was _definitely_ the greatest parapsych instructor in the world. Most people in academic parapsych didn't do field work any longer--they focused on the science side of things, stayed in a lab, wrote papers, taught classes. Those who maintained their field certification and still actually went out to investigate and hunt ghosts were like rockstars. Well. Nerd rockstars. Washington not only did both, but he was still making active discoveries both in the field and in the lab and had been for over thirty years. Everyone wanted to work with him, but all of that other work kept him busy. He usually took no more than three or four grad students into his lab per year, if he took any at all. Alex was determined to be one of them.

Step four: become a probationary certified Investigative Parapsychologist. Probably the easiest step on the list. He was relatively certain that he could pass the IP exam already, but you had to be 21 to take it and until you completed two years of coursework, you needed a certified IP to sign off on your work. That wasn't to say the test was easy--it required at 75 to pass and taking it two or three times to get a passing grade wasn't unheard of. Still, Alex felt he had a fairly strong grasp of the material after five years of obsessively reading everything he could get his hands on.

Step five: learn everything that it was possible to learn from Washington for as long as it takes. A standard parapsych PhD took five years to complete. Alex wasn't opposed to sticking around a little longer if Washington had more to teach him or could give him a local job.

Step six: graduate. Debt free, if he played his cards right, and hopefully with a sterling recommendation from Washington.

Step seven: start his own IP agency/paranormal resource center. The advantage to owning his own business was that he could make his own hours flexible enough to balance both field work and lab work. Juggling those things simultaneously wasn't easy--there was a reason so few people managed to do both--but nothing about his life had been easy so far, so he wasn't too concerned.

Step eight: start writing books. Hell, he could probably push this up a few pegs. He had to go public as Athenodorus at some point, and he'd already had multiple offers from multiple houses to publish his blog as a book.

He was going to prove that he was a bet worth taking. He was going to prove that getting him off the island was worth it. He was going to make a name for himself and he was going to leave behind a legacy, no matter what he had to overcome to do it.

Unfortunately, he hit his first obstacle when he sat down for his first meeting with Princeton's Deputy Dean of Undergraduates the May before he was due to start his first semester. 

"I have a plan," he said before she could so much as open her mouth, and then he laid it all out for her. She watched, her expression guarded, until he reached the end, and then tapped her nails on the top of her desk.

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your work, Mr. Hamilton, I'm sure you're aware of the registration policies at Princeton," she said. "Four classes per term, eight terms. I know you were a star student where you came from, but you have to understand that things are a little different here. Princeton is full of some of the brightest students the world has to offer. The work here is quite difficult, and you shouldn't make any hasty decisions before you understand the difficulty of the workload."

Alex bristled, but worked to hold his temper. The condescension was dripping from her, like she couldn't believe some poor immigrant kid could possibly be as smart as the blue bloods whose parents were on the donors list. He wanted to explain to her just how wrong and rude she was, but he knew he shouldn’t yell if he wanted to attend her school.

"I did a lot of research," Alex said carefully. "I know there's precedent for people finishing their undergraduate degrees on the schedule I laid out." He'd spent weeks googling for details and emailing former students to get their accounts. He hadn't just made up his plan from nothing.

"Yes, there is," the woman said, "but those were exceptionally bright students."

" _I'm_ exceptionally bright," Alex said. "I worked full time while going to school and still writing between five and ten thousand words a _day_. I speak three languages!"

"Well, that's hardly unusual where you come from, is it?" she says.

Alex very slowly counted to ten in his head, then got to his feet. He picked up his messenger bag and his portfolio and turned to walk out of the room.

"Where are you going, Mr. Hamilton?" the woman called after him.

"I'm officially rescinding my application to Princeton," Alex said. "If you don't want me, I'll find someone who does."

It was not, perhaps, his smartest move ever. He was nineteen and alone in a foreign country. His papers depended on him being a student. 

But goddammit, he wasn't going to let some stranger talk to him like that.

In the end, it did work out in his favor--Ned has left the island the summer before and was at Columbia. Alex called him from the Princeton train station and by the time he was pulling into Penn Station, he had a meeting with the Columbia Admissions Director. That meeting went remarkably more smoothly, due either to Ned's warning or the fact that Alex opened by accusing Princeton of being racist and xenophobic. Though he could tell they were skeptical of his ability to finish in six semesters, they didn't try to talk him out of it. They offered him a full ride scholarship contingent on his grades and even offered to help him find somewhere to live until the semester began in August.

Alex liked Columbia.

And, in a move that surprised everyone but him, he finished his course load in five semesters, with a credit to spare. That credit was, ironically, his lowest mark in all of his tenure at Columbia. He took Yoga as a blow-off class, but he never fully succeeded in relaxing enough to benefit from it and would have landed a B+ if he hadn't been taking it Pass/Fail. 

In addition to spending his last semester at Columbia attempting to master the downward-facing dog, Alex went to no less than five interviews at Morristown University of New Jersey. There was one that went along with his application, of course, but once he was accepted, every member of the faculty wanted a chance to pitch him their lab for placement. While Nathanael Greene, Abigail Adams, and Friedrich von Steuben were all near the top of their field, there was no question of where he wanted to end up.

It didn't hurt that George Washington asked to meet him at Columbia to save him the expense of taking the train out to Morristown.

The meeting was brief. Washington asked Alex a handful of questions about himself--where he was from, why he was interested in parapsychology, what his other interests were, what he thought of some recent research in the field. Alex answered each question as best he could, stumbling a little at the start. Washington was a legend, the father of modern parapsychology, maybe the most notable and distinguished parapsychologist in history after the Warrens. He knew, of course, that a condition of being accepted into Washington's lab would be interacting with him every day, but for the moment, it was hard to shake his awe.

He pulled himself together, though. He rustled up his usual confidence from where it had been buried under nerves and anticipation and gave a strong interview performance after a shakey start. There was no reason to be nervous, he found. None of the questions were probing or in-depth; Washington barely looked up from his notebook the entire time, and he was gone within twenty minutes. After the second day of radio silence, save for a brusque acknowledgement of his thank you email, Alex, always cocksure, was beginning to doubt that Washington was interested at all. Then, a week to the day after their meeting, a handwritten letter arrived in Alex's mailbox.

He knew from his research that Washington only took on three or four grad students a year, if he took any at all. He could barely resist dancing all the way back to his dorm. Two years in America and he had already crossed off the first three steps of his life plan. He hoped the world was ready for him, because Alexander Hamilton was well on his way to leaving his mark on it.


	2. Chapter One: Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander moves to Morristown, makes a friend, makes three more friends, and turns one of them into a kissing friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grew up two towns over from Morristown and lived there until about six years ago. All of the landmarks, weather, travel times, etc are accurate (or accurate to what they were like six years ago, at the very least). There is no university in Morristown, but MUNJ is located on the site of a boys' prep school that actually exists.
> 
> Also, Herc is Jersey as fuck and writing him makes me homesick.

It feels strange, taking the commuter train out to Morristown with a one-way ticket. It's late enough in the morning that there's plenty of room for Alex, his two suitcases, and his laptop bag to take a three-seater up all by themselves. It's hard for him not to fidget all the way through North Jersey. He watches the stations go by until they're zooming past Madison and Convent and then, finally, pulling into his station.

There's a shuttle with the MUNJ logo waiting outside the train station, and the first reality of his new home sets in as soon as he boards it. The shuttle schedule is short and the public transit bus schedule is even shorter. As they drive out of the downtown area and into the treelined suburbs and forested streets, it becomes very clear that this isn't New York; getting anywhere besides campus is going to be a trial.

The shuttle unloads at the campus, a beautiful, sprawling collection of old brick buildings that backs right up into the woods. It _feels_ like a college, it feels like somewhere Alex can begin to make a life for himself. It feels like home.

Even if, as it turns out, he's not exactly home yet.

"What do you mean, you can't find my housing assignment?" Alex asks the kid sitting behind the housing table. There are long lines separated by last name and a gaggle of what are obviously students handing out key-cards and maps. Or, well, they're handing them out to most people. After going through the "H" box several times, the boy sitting in front of Alex still doesn't have anything for him.

"I'll need to talk to my boss," the boy says, looking like he's about to have a stroke from the anxiety of the encounter. "I...I don't know what's wrong, you should be in here. Hamilton, you said?"

"Yes," Alex says through his teeth. "Hamilton. H-A-M-I-L--"

"I'll need to talk to my boss," the boy says again, jumping to his feet. "If you could just wait over there?"

He points to a bench in front of the housing office, where another guy about Alex's age is already sitting. He's black and, after two years at Columbia surrounded by the elite, Alexander recognizes the casual wealth of his designer clothes and shoes. He looks as perturbed as Alex feels, though, so Alex gives him an exasperated, commiserating look when he sits down.

"They lost your housing assignment too, huh?" he says. The guy nods. Alex holds out his hand. "Alexander Hamilton. Grad student in Parapsychology."

The other guy's expression is strange and unreadable for a moment.

"Aaron Burr," he finally says. "Also a grad student in Parapsych." He shakes Alex's hand and Alex can't help his grin.

"Hey, cool," he says. "Nice to meet--wait, Aaron Burr?"

"That's what I said," Burr says, though his smile takes the sting out of it.

"No, I mean--I emailed you!" 

Burr blinks at him.

"Like, three or four years ago," Alex continues, waiting for a look of recognition to dawn on Burr's face. "I was applying to Princeton and I emailed everyone I could find who'd accelerated their degree. You never emailed me back, but you did it in a couple years, right?"

"I did," Burr says. He doesn't add anything further. Not a talker then, Burr, though he's not unfriendly.

"I was trying to get them to allow me to do that," Alex says. "But the Dean--she totally blew me off. She didn't think I was smart enough to do it, I could tell, just because I was foreign and poor. I walked out and ended up at Columbia, where I _did_ finish in two years, so fuck that." It occurs to Alex then that Burr might have some pride in his alma mater, even if it had royally screwed Alex over. "Uh, how'd you get them to let you accelerate, then?"

"I all but grew up on campus," Burr said. "My father was a professor for a long time, so they knew me and what I was capable of. A handful of tenured faculty vouched for me."

"So your dad just slipped in and checked all the right boxes, huh?" Alex says. He means it as a joke, but Burr frowns.

"No, actually," he says. "My father died when I was still in high school, only two years after my mother died."

Absurdly, the only thing Alex can think to say to take his foot out of his mouth is, "I'm an orphan too."

It has about the effect that Alex would expect and he winces at his own stupid big mouth. It's entirely possible that he spent the last two years so focused on school that he neglected to learn other important life skills. Like how to make friends.

He's saved from further embarrassment by the door next to them swinging open. The nervous student from before is back, along with a dark skinned woman who looks ready to knock some heads together. Alex hopes his isn't one of them.

"Mr. Hamilton? Mr. Burr?" she asks. Alex and Burr both nod. "I'm the Dean of Student Services, Heni Knox." She shakes both of their hands and then sighs and pushes some errant strands of hair back towards her ponytail. "To be frank, the Director of Housing quit unexpectedly in the spring and left things here in a bit of a mess. He left before admissions picked up, but it appears that since the two of you were accepted so early in the admissions process, your housing information was lost in the shuffle."

A lifetime of terrible luck has more or less prepared Alex for this moment. He doesn't panic, even as Burr makes a noise of distress beside him.

"So we don't have anywhere to live?" Burr asks.

"I didn't say that," Dean Knox says. "I just put two of my staff on it. They'll find you housing, especially given you've already paid your housing deposits. It just might...take a day or two. Until then, I'm going to personally make sure you have somewhere to stay for the next two days. I can either get you a hotel room downtown or--well, my wife and I live on campus--we have a spare room and a couch that the two of you are welcome to until we get you into graduate housing. It'll be two days at most, cross my heart."

The idea of an entire hotel room to himself seems decadent after two years of dorm living and seventeen years of hovering around the poverty line. Unfortunately....

"I don't have a car," Alex says.

"I don't either," Burr says. "Not yet, anyway. I need to make time to take the train down to East Windsor to pick it up."

Dean Knox claps her hands together. "Okay then. If you give me a moment to call Lucy and let her know and make you some keys, I'll take you over there so you can drop off your bags and then, I imagine, go out and have a stiff drink. I know that's what I'll be doing."

Alex likes Dean Knox already.

She ducks back into the office, leaving Alex and Burr standing awkwardly outside the door. Alex wants to say _something_ but he's not sure what, for possibly the first time in his life.

"So, I guess we're temporary roommates," Alex says.

"I guess we are," Burr says. "Once we drop our things off and finish the rest of registration, we should take her advice. I know where the closest dive bar is. I'll buy you a drink."

Maybe Alex hasn't fucked up this friend thing entirely, then.

"That would be nice," he says, and tries to smile encouragingly.

When Dean Knox gets back, she presents them each with a keycard.

"These will open the front door of the apartment until I deactivate them when you get permanent housing assignments. Get your stuff and let's head over."

Alex is a master of maneuvering his two suitcases by this point. Burr has only one large suitcase and a messenger bag, but something about him--his clothes, definitely, and perhaps the way he holds himself, --makes Alex relatively sure that he has more things coming. All of Alex's worldly possessions fit in his two suitcases. One of them contains nothing but books.

As they cross the campus, Dean Knox distractedly points out various buildings and throws out little tips ("The best study corrals are in the basement of the library." "The cafe is a madhouse in the morning, but the Pizzeria sells the same coffee at the same price after 8am." "There's a tunnel that connects York Hall and the Student Center."). They pass the campus buildings and dorms and finally twist around to a collection of duplexes tucked back behind the school, hidden by a copse of trees.

"Graduate and faculty housing," she announces. "You'll probably end up here somewhere, we just have to figure out where. For the next couple days, you'll be in K-13."

She leads them down a concrete path through the bright, grassy common area in the center of the apartments. At K-13, she holds up her keycard for them to see and then waves it in front of a security panel. The light on the panel turns green and Alex hears the locking mechanism turn over.

The inside of the apartment is bright, well-furnished, and covered in books. 

"Help yourself to anything in the fridge," Dean Knox says. "That couch folds out into a bed and the other bedroom and bathroom are around the corner. My wife and I sleep upstairs and we'll be in for the night around seven, but you can come and go as you please as long as you're quiet. Any questions?"

Alex and Burr shake their heads.

"Good," she says. "I'm sure there are another dozen things you need to do today. Best of luck, gentlemen." She gives each of them a keycard and allows them enough time to deposit their bags in the back bedroom. Alex keeps his messenger bag--if Dean Knox turns out to be some sort of con-artist, she can have his clothes and even his books, but she's not getting her hands on his laptop--and then he and Burr follow her back out the door and up to the main campus.

"It looks like there's still the registration desk and the GA orientation, then a campus orientation at three, and a welcome from the President at four," Burr says, reading off the screen of his phone. "Do you have any idea where the Frelinghuysen building is?"

"I bet we can find out," Alex says, and the tiny smile Burr gives him is enough for Alex to feel confident that he's not in this alone, at least.

The morning and early afternoon involve a lot of waiting in lines and listening to people drone on about rules and regulations that Alex already has memorized after spending a summer with the Graduate Assistant handbook. The campus orientation sounds slightly more promising--the maps aren't super helpful and Alex knows he'll commit the campus layout to memory faster if he sees it firsthand--but he and Burr are immediately split up. 

"If you're born in an odd month, you're with me," says one of the guides, a petite Asian girl with an incongruously booming voice. Alexander steps in her direction, as Burr steps towards the latino boy shouting for even number months.

"February," Burr says with a shrug.

"January," Alex says. He could follow Burr--it's not like they would know any better--but that feels just a little pathetic. Besides, he's spent the bulk of his life on his own; there's no reason to become twitchy about it now.

The tour loops through and around campus and their guide is pretty funny, even as she recites dry information about the history of the university and the location of various classrooms and buildings. Alex absently wonders how many times she'll have to do this in the next few weeks. Graduate orientation is this weekend, transfer orientation is mid-week next week, and undergrad freshman orientation is the following weekend. That's a lot of time spent explaining how to reserve study rooms and access wifi.

The two groups reconvene at the end of the tour and Alex finds Burr again, acting as casual as he can manage.

"Oh, hey," he says when Burr spots him and walks over. He pretends to be looking at his phone. "I guess the President's address is next? In Garfield Auditorium, which, hey, now I know where that is."

Burr chuckles, which Alex takes to mean that Burr is enjoying himself and not just humoring Alex because he hasn't had time to make any more friends yet.

The President's speech is predictably dry and trite--thank you for choosing Morristown, fine history of scholarship and achievement, around since the founding of the country, etc.--and Alex can't help but notice people filtering out the back slowly. He tries to catch Burr's eye--he's not learning anything here he can't get from reading the President’s letter on the college website--but Burr seems determined to see it through.

But, whatever. It could be worse. And once it's done, Burr does take him for that drink.

The bar is as divey as promised and the party is already in full swing. There's music blasting and people are packed in tight. Alex recognizes a handful of people that he's seen throughout the day and waves to a few who acknowledge him

"I'll get us drinks, try and find a table or something," Burr shouts at Alex in an attempt to be heard over the noise. 

Alex flashes him a thumbs up and surveys the room. The back area seems to be quieter, at least--more booths and tables along with a pool table and some dart boards. The music doesn't seem to be quite as loud either, so that's where he goes first. He can't find any empty tables, but he does spy two empty chairs at a long high top. It seems big enough that he and Burr can grab the end without bothering the people clustered around the other end. 

He approaches the empty chairs. There are three guys sitting at the table already, talking and laughing. One of them--tall, black, with his hair pulled back--Alex recognizes from his orientation group. His French accent had caught Alex's attention. The other, another black guy, broad and laughing, with a do-rag and a cigarette tucked over his ear, looks older than most of the first year grad students and the third--well. Latino, from the looks of it, with curly hair, a mess of freckles, and a smile that knocks Alex out even when it's not directed at him. Definitely someone Alex would like to get to know better.

"Hey," he says, "are these seats taken?" 

Do-rag shakes his head and Accent gestures towards them with a flick of his wrist.

"They are yours," he says with a generous smile. "I recognize you from orientation. I'm Lafayette. Just Lafayette."

"His full name takes a fucking week to say out loud," says do-rag. "Fucking French. I'm Hercules Mulligan. Herc. Mulligan. Whatever is fine. Sit down, man."

"Awesome," Alex says. "Uh, Alexander Hamilton. Alex."

"John Laurens," says freckles, and, wow, Alex was right, that smile aimed at him is a hundred times more powerful and is already making Alex think things he probably shouldn't be thinking about hot strangers in public. 

"Nice to meet you," he says, taking a seat and trying to be subtle about checking Laurens out as he does so. Subtlety is for naught, however--on his way back up Laurens' body, their eyes meet. Laurens was definitely just doing the same thing to Alex.

Excellent.

"Oh, great," Mulligan says, looking back and forth between Alex and Laurens. Laurens smirks and Alex shrugs and then they look at each other again and, yep, Alex isn't going home alone tonight, that's for sure.

"What?" asks Lafayette.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Mulligan mutters. "Do you need a drink, Hamilton?"

"My friend is just getting them now," Alex says. He hopes "friend" isn't an overstatement, and gestures towards the bar, where Burr is exchanging cash for two bottles of beer. When Burr sees him, he waves a little, and Alex waves back.

"Ooooh," Laurens says. "That's the guy I was telling you about."

"The hot guy?" Mulligan asks.

"The hot fence-sitter," Laurens says. "Easy on the eyes, though."

"Was he not receptive to your charms, dear Laurens?" Lafayette asks.

"Pretty sure he's straight," Laurens says. "I was looking pretty hard and he was definitely not looking back. I can tell when they're looking back." He glances at Alex as he says the last part and Alex meets his eyes and grins.

" _Oh_ ," Lafayette says, mostly to Mulligan. "I get it now." Mulligan rolls his eyes.

"What do you mean, 'fence-sitter?'" Alex asks. He can feel his shoulders tensing as as he's hit by a wave of foreboding. The definition of "fence-sitter" isn't the problem--he's been in parapsych long enough to recognize the slang, the dismissive way of referring to people who refuse to make a commitment to believing in the paranormal, while remaining open to the possibility that it might actually exist. _We Just Can't Know For Sure_ seems to be their motto, even though science doesn't know _anything_ for sure, even though the entire universe is filled with educated guesses. Alex hates them almost more than skeptics--the idea that you can sit there and claim to be rational when all you're really doing is hedging your bets drives him mad. It doesn't help that more than a few of them stood around watching him get beat up as a kid and claimed they didn't want to get involved because they agreed with both parties.

To Alex, fence-sitting represents the worst sort of political bullshit--at least skeptics actually believe _something_. And he's definitely never met a fence-sitter who actually wanted to make a career out of parapsychology.

"We're parapsych," John says, gesturing to all three of them.

"Me too," Alex says, and Laurens smiles at him again. That smile is fucking dangerous.

"Well, your buddy and I were in the same orientation group and we got to chatting about our schedules and he told me he was in 'Skepticism in the Age of Believers.' I laughed, because I figured it was a joke, but he said it wasn't. That he was interested in hearing their side because, quote, we don't really know how the chips are going to fall yet."

Alex's jaw literally drops. He thought the world had thrown enough unexpected shit at him that he couldn't be surprised anymore, but here he is, being bowled over by something new.

" _What_?" he asks. 

Laurens sags a little with relief. "Oh, good," he says. "For a minute, I thought you agreed with him and I can only deal with so many hot fence-sitters in one day. You're his friend and you didn't know that?"

"We just met today!" Alex says. "I may have been, you know, overstating the whole 'friend' thing. He said we don't know how the chips are going to fall? Are you serious?" Laurens nods. "And he's--how do you study parapsychology--how do you intend to get a fucking doctorate in Parapsychology and--does he plan to get certified, because--what the _fuck_?"

"I've seen this shit before," Mulligan says. "You get a bunch of dipshits who think they can straddle the line between authenticism and skepticism so they can double publish and shit. He's probably not interested in getting certified, just in getting some fucking cushy teaching job somewhere."

"I just--how-- _how_?" Alex asks desperately. Why the hell would someone go through all the trouble of nine hundred years of schooling if they didn't _believe_? And if Burr _does_ believe and he's just playing it safe--what the fuck? How can he just smile and nod and agree with smug skeptic assholes who want to discredit the entire fucking parapsychology institution? 

He looks back and forth between the other three, though they don't seem to have any answers. Mulligan is shaking his head and Lafayette shrugs.

"You're cute," Laurens says, and it's a testament to how fucking _insane_ a parapsych grad student who won't commit is that Alex doesn't take that as an invitation immediately.

"Your friend is coming this way," Lafayette says. "You may want to look slightly less...."

"Demented?" Mulligan suggests.

"I just...what. _What_. _How_?"

Burr walks right up to the table like nothing's wrong, like he's not _insane_.

"A drink on me, as promised," he says, placing a beer in front of Alex. He smiles politely at everyone else, although it flickers when he notices Laurens. "Ah, Laurens. Good to see you again."

"Mmhm," Laurens says.

"How the fuck are you devoting five years of your life to a PhD in Parapsychology if you don't even _believe_?" Alex blurts out. 

Burr blinks at him slowly. Lafayette and Mulligan hide snorts of laughter behind their hands. Poorly.

"I never said I don't believe," Burr says, shooting Laurens a look over Alex's shoulder. "I said that we don't know how the movement is going to shake out and where it's going to go over the next few years. It's wise to look at every side of the issue and remain neutral."

"You're _studying_ parapsychology!" Alex all but shouts. He's going to smack someone in the face if he keeps gesturing so sharply, but he can't stop--all of the shock and frustration running through him needs to escape somehow. "You can’t remain neutral while _studying_ it because the other side thinks it _doesn't exist_!"

"Alexander, really," Burr says. He sounds way too much like a teacher or something, someone using their power to condescend to Alex like he's the lowest common denominator. Alex _hates_ that.

"No!" Alex says. "I really don't fucking get it! Skeptics are wrong! They're just wrong! We have evidence on tape, we have mediums, we have documented hauntings, we have a literal field of study-- _one that you're a part of_ \--dedicated to this! And it's one thing if some dumbass skeptic wants to believe we're alone on the planet, but to not even commit one way or another? You're endorsing their wrongness! You're undermining your own work because you sure as hell aren't going to get any of the Branwen incantations to _work_ if you don't believe, and--"

"I _said_ ," Burr says sharply, cutting Alex off, "that I believe. I can use a Branwen just fine, thank you. My opinions have little to do with how well I can do my job."

"They do when your job is getting rid of things that your opinions don't even believe exist!" 

"That sentence kind of got away from you," Laurens murmurs, but Alex ignores him.

"Look," Burr says. "I'm obviously an excellent parapsychologist. I got into one of the best schools in the country, studying under the premiere mind in the field. I just like to keep an open mind."

Alex gestures wordlessly at Burr.

"Anyway," Burr continues, "I think they're doing trivia in the other room. Are you interested in playing a round?"

Alex continues to gesture wordlessly at Burr.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Burr says.

Laurens claps a hand on Alex's shoulder. "We'll take good care of him," he says, just as Alex finds his words again.

"You're literally impossible!" Alex says to Burr. 

"I'll come find you when I'm done and we can head back to campus," Burr says. He tips his beer bottle to the table in farewell and then heads off to the main room of the bar again.

"How?" Alex asks. "I just... _how_?"

Laurens nudges his beer closer to him.

"Drink," Laurens says. "It will make you feel better. And when you're done with that one, the next round's on me."

Alex grabs the bottle and drinks steadily, waiting for the sweet embrace of intoxication to drive away the inanity of Burr's argument.

It takes a few minutes for Alex to finally shake his rage, but it slips away in fits and starts as Lafayette, Mulligan, and Laurens steer the conversation away from Burr and back onto safer ground. He learns that Mulligan is something like a sixth year grad student, taking the occasional class, but mostly spending his time finding, fixing, trading, and selling equipment, books, and anything else a parapsychologist might need. The way he says "anything else" with a raised eyebrow reminds Alex strongly of some of the men who used to supply Beekman and Cruger--shady and not entirely above the board, but always willing to help out someone who would give them a fair price. 

Lafayette is, predictably, an international student from France, and he and Laurens are first year grad students like Alex, both of them also studying under Washington.

"He takes like, three people in each class!" Alex says, shaking his head. "How weird is it that we all met here, before classes even started?"

"Fate," Laurens says, tipping his bottle against Alex's. 

Something about the three of them resonates deep within Alex. Talking is never hard for him, but it seems even easier than usual as they sit around the table trading stories and talking about their expectations for the semester. For the first time in a long time, Alex understands why humans are social creatures, why everyone stresses companionship and interaction.

Friendship. It must be friendship. 

It's pretty awesome.

Laurens gets a second round, as promised, and Mulligan and Lafayette start to eye the pool table speculatively. Alex has no interest in pool, but now that beer number one has helped mellow his shock and disappointment at Burr, he takes a moment to let the warm tingle of attraction settle into place just under his skin. He watches Laurens out of the corner of his eye as Mulligan tells an unbelievable story about a residual haunting he once discovered. Alex may not have had time for friends in college, but he did have a lot of pent-up frustration to let out, and there were a lot of people willing to help him in that regard.

He's not racing to get out of here, though. For the first time, he feels like he's on track. He's escaped the island, pushed through college, and finally landed where he needs to be. Here in Morristown, he has the luxury of settling down a little, at least for the time being. He has the time to get to know someone.

He _really_ wants to get to know Laurens.

Somewhere around the third round, Mulligan and Lafayette finally wrest control of the pool table and rack up a game. Laurens leans against the wall to watch them, and Alex gives their table up to some hopeful looking girls to follow him. Alex wouldn't necessarily say that he has a _type_ , but about fifteen things about Laurens make him light up from his head to his toes. His passion and his attitude, sure, but his smile knocks Alex out, and he keeps thinking about sinking his hands into those curls, too, and seeing if the rest of Laurens is as freckled as his face.

Alex leans his shoulder against the wall and crosses his arms, silently taking in Laurens' profile for a minute.

"Looking for anything specific?" Laurens asks without taking his eyes from the pool table.

"Just admiring the view," Alex says, and Laurens' mouth curls up slightly.

"I noticed you admiring it earlier," Laurens says. "Plan to do anything about it?"

"Maybe," Alex says, smiling around the top of his beer bottle. Laurens laughs and turns to face Alex. His gaze is less smouldering than Alex expected; it's almost fond, even though they've only known each other for an hour or two. Even stranger, Alex and feel his own smile relaxing into something similar as he looks back at Laurens.

"How do you feel about darts?" Laurens asks.

"I feel like two and a half beers are going to make it pretty interesting," Alex says.

Their round of darts ends in something like a draw; Alex is too distracted to keep track of the points, and Laurens is too handsy to care. After one round, they cede the board to some guys who seem more interested in the game than they are and settle against the wall in the back, people watching as they nurse their drinks. Alex is hyper-aware of Laurens next to him, the heat of his body, the strength of his gaze where it brushes up against Alex. They talk on and off about nothing in particular, inching closer and closer as they get more tipsy. 

Alex finishes his beer and places the empty bottle on an unattended tray against the wall. He's hit the apex of tipsiness--he's going to tumble into drunk momentarily, and every sensation and feeling and thought is amplified. Most of those thoughts and sensations are centered around Laurens, and it feels good to finally dive into them.

He steps closer to Laurens, right into his personal space. If he wants to do this before they get too drunk to go on, it's time to act.

"Hey," Laurens murmurs, his eyes skating up and down Alex's face. He's flushed--it's a good look on him. He's staring at Alex's mouth.

"Hi," Alex says. He reaches out and rests his hands on Laurens' waist, slipping the tips of his fingers under Laurens' shirt. Laurens flinches--Alex's hands are freezing--but then sways forward and sighs. He closes his eyes and smiles, and Alex leans close, head bowed just shy of placing his lips on Laurens' neck. He noses the line of Laurens' jaw, behind his ear, breathing out and feeling Laurens shiver.

"Laurens, I like you a lot," Alex murmurs, pulling Laurens closer.

"I got that," Laurens says. "But, if you're gonna suck my dick, you should call me John."

"What makes you think I'm gonna suck your dick?" Alex asks, even as he presses John back against the wall and drags his lips across John's throat.

"Hunch," John says. "Come here."

Apparently tired of the tease, John buries his fingers in Alex's hair and pulls him away and up, but Alex has no time to complain because then they're kissing.

John tastes like shitty beer and kisses with his whole body. Alex wishes he were more sober so he could fully appreciate it. As it is, everything is hazy and muted, and Alex misses the sharp clarity of being in the moment.

Oh well, that just means they’ll need to have a repeat performance in the morning.

For a long time, they just kiss in the back corner of the bar, pressed against the wall, their hands in each other's hair, skating each other's ribs, nails digging into each other's hips. Alex likes the feeling of John's heart beating wildly beneath his skin, pressed right up against Alex's. He likes the way John's teeth dig into his lip just hard enough to make him hot all over. He likes having someone in his arms, and he likes that it's John in particular, all of that passion and brilliance and attitude right there in his grasp. He already hopes this can become a regular thing.

He's kissing John's neck, following his freckles down to the front of his shirt, when someone clears their throat. Alex doesn't bother to stop.

"What are you doing?" Burr asks from behind him.

"Giving John a reason to wear collared shirts in August," Alex says. John laughs beneath him, a warm buzz against Alex's lips.

"We should get back to campus," Burr says, because apparently he's either blind or an idiot.

"I'm a little busy," Alex says. "And I'm not going back there tonight."

"It's our first day," Burr says, because he really can't take a fucking hint. "Do you really think we should be rocking the boat already? They're being nice enough to let us stay there until we get housing; we should do what they expect of us."

Alex finally pulls away and sighs. He shares a frustrated look with John, who's disheveled and flushed--his hair is wild from having Alex's hands in it, lips slick and swollen, shirt rucked up nearly to the point of indecency.

Yeah, Alex isn't going back to Dean Knox's apartment.

With one hand still firmly wrapped around John's hip, he turns enough to see Burr.

"Fuck what they expect of us," he says. "We're not children, and they're not our minders. If they ask, which they won't, tell them I met someone."

Burr's expression is still flat and cautious, and Alex can't help roll his eyes.

"Fine," Burr says. He shakes his head and then turns and walks away. What a prick.

Alex turns back to John and tries not to get distracted by how inviting he looks, rumpled and leaning back against the wall, his lips quirked into an amused smirk.

"So," Alex says. "Maybe we should change venues."

"As it happens," John admits, "I was going to ask you where you're staying because I've been sleeping on Lafayette's couch."

Alex considers this.

"I've fucked on worse," he says. John laughs.

"Then I'll go let him know we're taking off" John says.

Alex reluctantly lets go of John and takes his place leaning against the wall, watching as he weaves back over to the pool table and has a short conversation with Lafayette. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing back towards where Alex is standing, and when Lafayette looks over, Alex waves. Lafayette and John exchange a few more words and fist bump. Then John makes his way back through the crowd, giving Alex a double thumbs up.

"Let's get out of here," he says, and Alex eagerly follows him out of the bar, putting Burr out of his mind for the time being.

John has a car, apparently, but doesn't trust himself enough to drive it, so they take the last shuttle halfway into town. On the outskirts of downtown is an upscale apartment building that Alex feels too poor to even look at, but that's where John leads him, inside the double locking doors and over to the elevator. He reminds himself that John is staying with Lafayette, and the setting makes a little more sense. Lafayette was wearing designer jeans and three hundred dollar sunglasses and definitely wouldn't look out of place in an upscale apartment building. John's cargo shorts and scuffed Converse seem more in line with Alex's outfit, though he walks through the building with the confidence of someone who knows he belongs. Once they reach the third floor, he pulls Alex down the hallway by the hand and then they're tripping into the apartment. 

It's nice, but Alex barely registers anything besides the sofa bed, neatly made, and the way that John's hands are already taking him apart. 

This is so much better than going back to campus.

John is handsy and bossy and focused, all things that Alex likes. He's chatty, which Alex also likes--more than one of his past partners have complained about his tendency to banter his way through sex, but John meets him quip for quip. When he's not bantering, though, he's way too quiet, swallowing his gasps and moans. Alex is going to have to work on changing that, thought, because the noises that _do_ slip out are amazing.

Most of all, though, Alex just _likes_ John. Something about him is already winding its way into Alex, twisting around the heart of him. He slept with a fair few people in college, but it was mostly one-night stands or recurring hook-ups. And he's not like, fucking proposing to John or anything, but he's not opposed to...doing this again. Maybe regularly, even.

They finish round one lying sprawled across the sofa bed, panting and quiet but not uncomfortable. Or, well, not any more uncomfortable than Alex usually is when it's been a few minutes since he's spoken.

"So, are you and Lafayette roommates?" Alex eventually asks, once the silence is too much.

"Sort of," John says. He yawns and rolls onto his side to face Alex. "We met at the start of July. We were both around early and bumped into each other at the bar and started talking and ended up becoming friends once we realized we were going into the same program. He offered to let me crash until I could move into student housing."

"So you'll be on campus soon?" Alex asks. Maybe they'll even be neighbors. That would be nice. Convenient, too, if this does become more than a one-time deal.  
"I'm not sure yet," John says. "Laf really wants me to move into the second bedroom. I think he gets lonely out here by himself. I still need to talk to the student housing people and see if I can get my deposit back, which I can hopefully use to like...get furniture and stuff."

"I'm supposed to be in student housing, but who knows when I'll be able to move in," Alex says. "There was some problem with my paperwork--they lost my housing forms or some bullshit--so they're scrambling to find me something. Even a fucking broom closet would be a relief at this point. It's not like I have a lot of shit--two suitcases and my laptop. And one of the suitcases is filled with books."

John smiles. He has a really fucking nice smile. It's entirely possible that Alex has like, a crush on John or something.

"I like your style," John says. "I have two boxes of books and two suitcases, so you win, but I feel you."

"I gotta find something soon," Alex says. "I have like, a week's worth of blog posts to write and schedule, and it'll only take me a few hours, but I'd like the rest of this shit settled before I dive into it."

"Oh, cool, you have a blog?" John asks. "Is it parapsych? Maybe I've heard of it."

And, okay, Alex has spent the last seven years being cagey about connecting himself to his blog, but he's also spent seven years wishing to god that he could brag about it. So maybe he was angling for that opening.

"Uh, well," he says. "I don't write under my real name."

"Barely anyone does," John says. "Come on, man. I don't care if it's small, not every site can be The Skeptic Refuted."

"Well," Alex says, the corner of his mouth inching upwards, "actually...."

He looks at John. John looks back at him, puzzled. As the silence stretches onwards, Alex can see the realization dawning in John's eyes.

"No," John whispers.

"Uh, yeah," Alex says. It's a full smile now.

"You're Athenodorus?"

Alex knows his smile is smug, but he can't help it.

"Yup."

"You can't be Athenodorus!" John sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his expression entirely dubious. "That blog's been running for seven or eight years, you'd have been a fetus when you started it!"

"I was fourteen," Alex says. "That's why it was updated so sporadically at first--I only had a computer at work, and my boss let me fuck around on it after hours, but I still had to write my posts by hand and then type them all up. It's also why I never told anyone any details about my life--no one would take me seriously if they knew I was just a poor brown kid in the middle of nowhere."

"Holy shit," John says, shaking his head. "That's like, the largest collection of amateur parapsych research on the internet. You seriously wrote all of that yourself?"

Alex nods.

"When do you sleep?"

"I usually do about fourteen posts--a week's worth--in two days," Alex says. "If I do anything more than that, it's easy to get outdated. So it leaves me time for work and school, which was good because I had to overload my schedule every semester to graduate on time, since I started late."

"What are you talking about?" John says. "Didn't you say you were twenty-one? You graduated early, then."

"No," Alex says. "I mean--yes. But I wanted to graduate in two years, and I couldn't start until I was 19, so--"

John flops back onto the couch and covers his eyes.

"You did an entire bachelor's degree in two years?" John asks. "For fuck's sake."

"It took me forever to find somewhere willing to let me do it," Alex says. "No one seemed to believe I could manage it."

"With good reason," John says. "How the fuck did you survive that?"

"It really wasn't that hard," Alex says. "Mostly reading and papers, and I can do that in my sleep. No real field work. Not like this."

"And I'm sure you'll find a way to bow out of here after a year too, then," John says. He rolls onto his stomach and he might sound...disappointed. Alex isn't sure what to do with that.

"Nah," Alex says. "It's harder to game the Investigative Parapsychologist system. You still have the waiting period before full IP certification and all that. But, even that aside, this is the good stuff. This is real. Studying under George Washington? Going out into the field? I'm gonna stretch this out as long as I can."

"Good," John says. Then, "I mean...you're smart, obviously, and you've got the right attitude for this and after like, five hours with you, Lafayette and I both like you, so, you know." He doesn't look at Alex. Which is good because Alex might be blushing. A little.

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with him?

"I don't have a ton of field experience yet," Alex blusters onward. "I mean, I did some amateur stuff in undergrad, plus the couple things that happened on the island that I wrote about on the blog, but you know what undergrad parapsych stuff is like--everything is in books or observing from a distance with fifty other kids or whatever. Most of my experience is more research and hardware based, so I'm pumped to round it out. I have a lot of ideas on how to incorporate some of the European and Asian methods of study into the work here."

"Yeah," John says, "Most of my hands-on experience is European. In that...I was in Europe when it happened. I went to school there, and, you know, the skeptic movement is much smaller there. A few of my classmates were deep into parapsych, including a guy I was obsessed with, so I went to a few lectures with him and by the time I graduated, I was president of our campus International Association of Parapsychology."

"You did your undergrad in Europe, then? Which school?" Alex asks.

"Oh, no," John says. "That was middle school and high school. I was at boarding school in Switzerland. I did my undergrad at Harvard, but aside from our chapter of IAP, I didn't do much in the field. I'm fucking lucky Washington picked me for his lab--I was nothing on paper." He quiets, staring down at the sheets and pulling at a loose thread. He chews on his lower lip for a moment, his shoulders curled inwards. 

"I'm sure that's not true," Alex says slowly.

"I haven't published," John says quietly, not looking up. "I haven't been to any conferences, and I have a pretty strong knowledge base, but it's all from independent study, not anything that's on my transcript. I was positive that it was a long shot to even get in. I still can't believe I'm here. It still feels like a joke or a mistake."

That seems like a weird switch. Alex has only known John for a night, but he seems crazy passionate about paranormal research, and if he was president of his high school's IAP group and active in Harvard's as well, it obviously isn't something that just popped up. It's also obviously a sore spot of some kind, so Alex tries to steer the conversation away from his general qualifications.

"What made you change your mind about what you wanted to study?" he asks. John folds his arms in front of him and looks up again, offering Alex a crooked smile.

"It wasn't so much that I changed my mind," John says. "I've always _wanted_ to study parapsychology, there were things...." He frowns and tips his head back. "Things changed, really quickly. And an opportunity became available. I was afraid, even once I got in, that I wouldn't be able to scrape together nearly enough money to pay for school, but the school was actually really good about the abrupt change in my status, and I managed to snag a full scholarship, thank god."

"A change in your status?" He looks at John expectantly for an explanation as to what the hell that means.

John is quiet again. He laces and unlaces his fingers and rubs his forehead before turning back to Alex, his expression more guarded than it was a moment ago.

"Well, the short version is that my total net worth went down by four figures in June," John says. He closes his eyes and rests his head on his crossed arms. "It's a...really long story. But it's been an adjustment, and it's been weird and hard, but it's worth it."

"Wait," Alex says. He does the math over and over again. "Four figures. What is it now?"

John opens his eyes again, but peers up at the wall rather than look at Alex.

"Well, I got paid yesterday, so I have about $350 in the bank and about sixty in my wallet," John says. "So...$410."

"So, before June...." Alex says, but trails off.

"I had a five million dollar trust fund," John says. He closes his eyes again. "I can't believe I'm telling you this. It's fucking embarrassing, I'm sorry, I don't know why--"

"Ssssh," Alex says. He absently traces a constellation of freckles on John's shoulder with the tip of his finger, trying to imagine the enormity of five million dollars. Trying to imagine the enormity of five million _anything_. Trying to imagine John, with his cargo shorts and his beat up Converse and his two suitcases of belongings and his cheap taste in beer, as some sort of trust fund baby, skating through life on his parents' dime. He can't manage to make 'five million dollars' and 'Latino kid drinking PBR in a dive bar' line up in his head. "I'm just...trying to wrap my head around this. Did the stock market crash or something?" He has no idea what rich people do with their money that could lead to millions of dollars just...disappearing.

"No," John says. He still hasn't opened his eyes, so Alex shifts close enough to press a kiss to his shoulder. "My dad--fuck. It's fucked up. And it's--I'm embarrassed by every part of it. By my fucking dad, by the life I was living before, by--by the, the _privilege_ I was raised in...and I'm not good at this, at talking about things, it's really just--"

He lets out a long sigh and hangs his head.

"My dad wanted me to be a lawyer," he says, just as Alex is about to tell him to forget it, that they've only just met, that even though Alex already feels weirdly in sync with John, that doesn't mean John has to bare his secrets. "And he's just...always had these...expectations. Since I was little. Where I would go to school, what I would study, what I would be when I grew up. And I didn't want to be a lawyer. I especially didn't want to be a dirtbag, disenfranchising, Republican scumbag lawyer like him. But there were some things--I felt like I _had_ to. To make up for...stuff. It was the least I could do. Until I was facing down actual law school applications and knew I couldn't do it anymore. So I told him that, and he gave me a choice--" He looks up again, right at Alex. "--go to law school or be disinherited. I chose this."

Alex can feel John's eyes on him, waiting for something. Alex is too gobsmacked to figure out what.

"Seriously?" Alex asks. John nods. "Wow. Fuck him."

John blinks rapidly a few times, his mouth turning down into a confused frown.

"What?"

"Fuck him," Alex repeats. "You're an adult, you can make your own choices--I can't believe he would try to _blackmail_ you into going to law school! Why should it even matter to him? If you care enough about this to walk away from millions of dollars--" _Millions of dollars._ Christ. "--then it's obviously important to you. Shouldn't he want you to be happy?" Alex doesn't know a whole lot about fathers, about family. And, honestly, he's always been a little jealous of guys who had a father growing up. Ned and Mr. Stevens were always kind to him and always tried to include him, but it was never quite the same and Alex knew it.

But with a choice between having no father and having a father who cared so little about him that he would cut him off just for following a different career path? He's not sure which would be better. 

"It wasn't...blackmail," John says weakly. He still looks a little shocked.

"Manipulation, whatever, it's not something a father should do to his son. Don't be embarrassed, okay?"

John is quiet for a moment, staring at a spot over Alex's shoulder.

"It's weird," he finally says. "I haven't told anyone that before. I mean, not all of it. Not like that. I sort of...hinted and implied to Lafayette, and I think he picked up what I was putting down, but even to the financial aid people I was...vague."

What do you say to something like that? 

"I'm glad," Alex says, because talking is easier than trying to figure out what to say. "I mean--just, it sounds like it's been rough? And I'm glad you can talk about it. I'm glad I could listen."

"I'm not normally like this," John says. He finally looks back at Alex. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I don't normally unload on anyone, let alone strangers. I just...feel like I know you. And not just because I read your blog, because you're cagey as hell about your life on that thing. Christ, you must think I'm crazy."

"I don't," Alex says honestly. "I get it. I'll tell you a thing, since you told me a thing--I've literally never had real friends before. Ever. In my life."

John's eyebrows knit together, and Alex is a little annoyed by how cute that is.

"How have you not had friends? You're so...." He gestures at Alex vaguely.

"Well," Alex says, "the first ten years of my life I moved around a lot. Switched schools when my parents bothered to send me to one. When I was twelve...my mother died, and my father had fucked off two years before that, and I was shuffled through a bunch of guardians before I landed with the family that ended up taking care of me. All of the shit from the previous twelve years of my life didn't exactly make me popular, and I was more focused on writing and learning and the paranormal than making friends my own age. I was pretty close to Ned--my guardian's son--but that always felt...I don't know, weird, I guess, because of my circumstances. Then I came to New York and worked non-stop for two years to get my degree so I could come here and then I met Burr and then six hours later I met you." 

He pauses for a moment. "Also, people say I talk too much, but fuck them."

John laughs, hanging his head so that his hair falls down around his face, obscuring it from Alex's view.

"Well, you have friends now," John says. Alex reaches out and winds one of John's curls around his finger.

"Yeah but, like, friends who I get to make out with. Right?"

"At least one, if you're good," John says. He pushes his hair back and shifts onto his side, bringing him very close to where Alex is sprawled across the sofa bed.

"I've been very good," Alex assures him, and has just enough time to grin wickedly before John kisses him.

Much, much later, Alex is finally drifting off, happily exhausted and lulled gently to sleep by John's deep, even breathing and the way his chest presses against Alex's back with each inhale.

"I sent you money," John mumbles, Alex nearly too far gone to hear.

"Hm?"

"After the hurricane," John says. "I sent money to your fundraiser. That's probably weird but...I'm glad I did. I'm glad I helped you get here. I'm glad you're here."

"'m glad too," Alex mutters, but he falls asleep before he can think about either admission too closely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting next week, this will be updating Mondays and Fridays. I'm posting this first chapter early because I'm out of town for the weekend! (At DragonCon. If you are also at DragonCon, hello!)


	3. Chapter Two: The Morning After the Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has breakfast with his new friends, lunch with his mentor, and makes plans for his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting and especially to the people who aren't friends I've bribed into reading it! I really appreciate it--this story has taken over my life and seeing other people read it is SO gratifying ♥
> 
> Thanks to **leiascully** for the French translations! If you hover your mouse over the French text, the English translations should display!

Alex doesn't normally sleep for long, but the excitement of the past few days must have settled into his bones. When he opens his eyes the next morning, the bed is empty, the sun is up, and his arm is killing him. He can hear someone moving around in the kitchen, and hunts around for his boxers and t-shirt and a hair elastic. He finds the first two easily enough and gives up on the third before making his way into the kitchen. John is standing in front of the toaster oven in boxers and a hoodie, his hair pulled back into a bun, staring at the appliance like his gaze alone has the power to make it toast faster.

"Hey," Alex says, and John glances up and grins at him, easy and pleased, which answers at least one of Alex's unasked questions. "Sleep well?"

"No," John says. "I fell asleep on your bony ass arm and it definitely fucked my back up." And that answers another. 

"Well, your back fucked up my arm, so we're even." Alex sidles over to the counter, where there's a ziplock bag full of bagels and a tub of cream cheese sitting out.

"We have other things," John says. "Well. We have peanut butter. I think."

"I'm a liiiiittle disappointed you didn't cook me breakfast," Alex says. John snorts and flips him off.

"Believe me, you don't want me making you breakfast. I can make toast, pour cereal, and scramble eggs, and that's about as far as it goes."

"How unfortunate," Alex says. He slides behind John and slips one of his hands under John's hoodie to press against his stomach. John lets out a huff of laughter.

"One thing at a time," he says. "I'm not gonna touch your dick til I've had breakfast and coffee, and if my breakfast burns because you're touching mine, you're gonna regret it."

Alex laughs, but John's not actually pushing him away and Alex isn't in a hurry to move, so he figures it's okay to trace his nose along John's hairline and down the slope of his throat until the toaster dings and John elbows him out of the way.

"Serious about the breakfast thing!" John sing-songs, and applies cream cheese to his bagel with gusto. "Also, this is a serve yourself establishment. I'm the dude who blew you last night, not your personal chef."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex says, grinning as he absently flips John off and goes about making his breakfast.

This is pretty nice, he has to admit. He doesn’t normally have breakfast with people he slept with, if only because he’s never cared to get to know them or even particularly liked them very much. This is comfortable and casual, though--he and John pass napkins and milk and sugar back and forth across the table and check their phones as they eat.

"Hey, did you see this thing about Litchfield's room sensors being pushed back again?" Alex asks without looking up from Twitter. Alex is starting to doubt that the new sensors--supposedly a combination of infrared, temperature, motion, and pressure that streamlines all the data into one easy to assess chart--are ever going to hit the market, and he's just cynical enough to believe it's because the companies that make infrared, temperature, motion, and pressure sensors are more afraid of declining sales than they are eager to see more efficient field work.

"No," John says. "I got about twenty minutes back into my timeline and clicked on a post from Mary Otis about that shit that went down on the 'Sexism and the Supernatural' panel at the IAP conference last month."

"I haven't seen that one yet," Alex says, and they glance up at each other simultaneously. John holds out his phone and shrugs, so they swap phones. Alex has been waiting for Otis' take on that panel. Someone had put her on a sexism panel with two dudes who spent the entire time dismissing her and talking over her, completely oblivious to the irony inherent in telling a room full of people that sexism in parapsych is mostly a myth while ignoring one of the most celebrated modern female parapsychologists. Otis posted once after the conference to assure everyone a long piece was forthcoming, so Alex knows this is gonna be good and happily settles in to read it.

Yeah, it's a pretty nice breakfast.

Lafayette wanders in just as they're finishing up, his eyebrows rising when he sees Alex. 

"Ah, Monsieur Hamilton, you are still with us," he says.

"Je t'ai dit," John responds in French, without looking up.

"C'est pas ton style," Lafayette responds, likewise in French.

"Tu ne me connais que depuis quelques semaines," John says. "I contain multitudes," he adds in English.

"Maintenant, je veux bien connaitre comment tu décrirais ton style," Alex says. Lafayette and John both turn to look at him, gaping just a little. 

"Tu parles français?" Lafayette asks.

"Ouais," Alex says. "C'est ma langue natale."

"Aw, and I knew that!" John says. He smacks his forehead. "It's on your damn blog."

Alex smirks.

"So, tell me more about your usual style," he says.

"Oh, fuck off, Hamilton."

Lafayette clears his throat pointedly before they can go any further.

"Blog?" he asks. John drops his hand and glances over at Alex. He raises one eyebrow in question and jerks his shoulder towards Lafayette.

"Yeah," Alex says. "I mean, don't go posting my name anywhere, but you guys might as well know since it'll be hard to hide once we're working together and I'm writing about it."

"Explain," Lafayette says, and John and Alex both turn back to him.

"Alex is Athenodorus," John says.

"Pardon?"

"I run The Skeptic Refuted," Alex says. "I have since I was fourteen."

Lafayette laughs, which Alex figures is a reaction he's going to have to get used to.

"That's a good joke."

"Not a joke," Alex says. He holds his hand out to John to reclaim his phone, then opens up his Twitter app. He shows Lafayette @a_ham, then switches over to @SkepticRefuted and shows Lafayette that timeline as well. Lafayette's eyes widen.

"Merde...."

"So, yes," Alex says. "John reads my blog. You too, it sounds like."

"Everyone reads your blog, you smug shithead," John says, and kicks him under the table. 

"I'm eventually going to have to come out," Alex says, kicking back. "I was third author on a paper last year, and I'll probably be publishing a lot more now that I'm here; I don't try to like, hide my writing style."

Lafayette keeps shaking his head and takes a seat at the table.

"I cannot believe you fucked Athenodorus."

"I know, right?" John says. Alex kicks him again, but lets his smirk speak for itself. "I kinda want to boast about it on Twitter, but it'll take people two seconds to put it together if I do."

"Feel free to boast about @a_ham," Alex says.

"Yeah, that's gonna happen," John says, but smiles at Alex a little, and Alex smiles back a little and, fuck, okay, Alex definitely has a ridiculous teenage crush on John Laurens and his tiny smiles and his freckles and his curls and his sense of humor. It would be really fucking embarrassing if he wasn't pretty sure John felt the same way.

"Ugh, Mulligan was right to be disgusted," Lafayette says, shaking his head. "I came in to remind you that day two of orientation starts in an hour."

Right. A whole second day of orientation to get through. At least this one promises to be dedicated to their actual field. If Alex remembers correctly, there's a tour of the parapsych wing, a tour of the labs, and individual lab orientations. In the afternoon, they'll meet with their advisors in groups and one-on-one and then they should be free for the weekend.

Maybe Alex will even have a place to live by then.

* * *

Lafayette drives them back to campus in a car that probably cost more than any building Alex has ever lived in, but despite the car and the money and the fancy apartment and the designer clothes, he seems really...chill. He's not snobby about any of it, he's clearly not trying to shove it in Alex's face, and after way too long surrounded by people who came from way more money than he did, Alex appreciates that. John seems equally at ease, though that makes sense knowing what he knows now about John's background, even if he is broke now. Broker than Alex, even, and Alex wonders how offended John would be if Alex offered to give him a few lessons in how to be poor.

Something to put on the back burner, for sure.

Between the masters program and the doctoral program there are nearly fifty students in the Parapsychology graduate department, and it takes Alex about ten minutes to decide that most of them are annoying. He sticks by John and Lafayette and ignores the sharp, expectant look that Burr gives him when the three of them slip into the building's lobby five minutes before the tour is set to start. They stick towards the back of the group, which isn't necessarily Alex's usual style--he likes to be in the front row, poised to ask a half dozen questions--but it only takes him a minute to guess that this tour is going to be about as useful as the rest of the orientation activities so far, and he'd much rather have a little distance to nose around the halls and labs as they inch through the building at a snail's pace.

He has high hopes for the lab tour, but it's really just more of the same, and the lab orientation is roughly half useful information--where the equipment is kept, what the lab procedures are, what the combinations are for the communal cabinets--and half beginner-level lessons on how the equipment works.

At least, it feels beginner to Alexander. Most of the crowd is taking copious notes, but Alexander has taken apart and reassembled different models of half of the machines in the lab. He can detail the upgrades to the Ovilus 5 and why each of them enhances environmental readings, making it easier to turn them into speech. He built a version of the EVP laser mic they have from scratch when he was fifteen and even knows how to upgrade it to get stronger voice recordings. Hell, as Athenodorus, he submitted feedback on a beta version of the newest Mel Meter long before it hit the market.

"The afternoon will be much better," Lafayette assures Alex and John quietly. Their tour guide is talking about the different types of spirit boxes kept in the lab; Alex and John are either rough housing or playing footsie under the table--even Alex isn't quite sure which. "George--Dr. Washington--has prepared some interesting material."

Alex is about to call attention to the slip-up--he definitely just called their advisor by his first name, and how does he know what's prepared for the afternoon, anyway?--when the group moves on to the passwords for the infrared computers and Alex has to pay attention again.

When the orientation ends, they file back out into the halls. There's a solid two hours until they meet with Dr. Washington, and Alex is about to suggest lunch when Lafayette's phone rings.

"Excusez-moi," Lafayette says, and steps to the side to take the call. Alex looks at John who shrugs. "Ah, Martha! To what do I owe the pleasure?" A look of comprehension blooms across John's face at the name, but he doesn't offer any clues, just watches Lafayette with interest. "We would love to, I'm sure. But it is not just John and myself today, we're with a friend." Lafayette glances over at Alex. "Alexander Hamilton?" Lafayette is quiet for another moment, then grins. "Ah, I thought he might! We will be over presently--we need to fetch John's car from the Further Frog first...of course. We look forward to it. Thank you for the invitation. À bientôt!"

Lafayette turns to them with a flourish, grinning. "We have been invited to the Washingtons’ for lunch," he says. Alex blinks.

"Like...George Washington?" he asks.

"Oui," Lafayette says, grinning like a jackass, obviously enjoying this way too much.

"Lafayette was like, adopted by the Washingtons," John explains. "Washington was friends with his...grandfather?"

"My uncle, actually," Lafayette says. "They are old friends. When I first came to the United States for university, the Washingtons were nice enough to host me, and we all grew rather fond of each other. They offered to house me when I was accepted here, but I was hesitant to put them out in that way. Which worked out well for both of us, no?" He smiles at John, who half-smiles back.

"Yeah, I mean, I still need to get my shit in line here and talk to student housing, but as long as you haven't changed your mind--"

"Of course not," Lafayette says. "I would appreciate a roommate, as I've told you hundreds of times."

"Sweet," John says. "Uh, anyway, if we're gonna get my car before we go, we should head over and do it."

"Hold up," Alex says. He waves at them to recapture their attention. "I'm still stuck on going to lunch with fucking George Washington like it's no big deal. I need to be in clean clothes and not look like I was fucked stupid on a sofa bed last night."

"We go over there couple of times a week now. Well, Lafayette has been all summer and when I showed up, I started getting invited too. It's not like...fancy," John promises. He frowns. "Except, you do still kind of have sex hair."

"I couldn't find an elastic," Alex says, running a hand through his hair, though he has a feeling that just makes it worse. John digs into his pocket and produces a hair tie. "Thanks. Coulda used that before we left."

"This is simple," Lafayette says. "You go and get changed while we get John's car, then we will pick you up on our way back around, and as long as you can avoid getting fucked stupid in the back of John's Camry in the ten minute drive across town...." He gives them a look that makes it clear he's not sure if he's really joking or not.

"No sex in my car, ever," John says firmly. "It's a rule. Go get changed, I'll text you when we're on our way."

"Sure," Alex says. He checks his pocket to make sure he still has the key Dean Knox gave him and then remembers-- "Wait, I don't actually have your number!"

"Oh, right!" John says. He holds out his phone and they swap again. Alex adds himself as a contact and, in a fit of inspiration, puts his name as Athenodorus. When they switch back, John glances down and rolls his eyes. "As I said, you're a smug shithead."

"Very funny, let's go," Lafayette says. He tugs John by the arm towards the parking lot. 

Alex waves after them, then heads the other direction towards Dean Knox's apartment. He glances down at his phone as he walks. John listed himself as his name, which is unimaginative if nothing else. He considers changing it to "the dude who blew me last night"--John's words, not his--but something about that feels skeevy, so he changes it, one handed as he digs out his keycard, to "Freckles."

Dean Knox's apartment is quiet when Alex slips in, and he heads right to where his suitcases are neatly stacked next to the sofa. John was wearing a plain striped t-shirt and jeans and Lafayette was wearing a tank top and khakis rolled at the ankle, so Alex trusts it really isn't going to be a formal meal. Still, if he's learned one thing since coming to America, it's that the value of someone's appearance is inversely proportional to their personal wealth. He pulls out his nicest jeans and a short sleeved button-down shirt that's been rolled well enough to ward off wrinkles. He grabs the rest of his incidentals--underwear, socks, toiletries--and ducks into the bathroom to change and fix his hair. When he emerges, hair in a neat bun, clothes casual but nice, Burr is standing outside the bathroom.

Alex nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Jesus fucking _fuck_!" he exclaims, his voice higher than he'd like. "Fucking--where the hell did you come from? You can't just sneak up on people, man."

"I take it from your inability to stop touching Laurens all morning that you enjoyed your night?" he asks.

Shit, if they were handsy enough that Burr noticed, they're probably pretty pathetically smitten with each other. That's only slightly mortifying.

"Yup," he says to Burr, heading back out to the living room to stuff his dirty clothes in his suitcase. Then, out of spite for the way he can still feel Burr glaring at him for daring to have fun last night, he adds, "I'll probably be back there tonight." Not that they've talked about it, but Alex thinks there's a fair shot that if he asks, John's not going to say no.

"Of course," Burr says, shaking his head. "Do you want to get lunch before the lab meetings?"

"That's where I'm headed now," Alex says. "Lafayette and John are coming to pick me up."

"You're going off-campus?"

"Uh, kind of. Yes." And then, because Alex has never really shied away from bragging and there's probably no reason to start now, "The Washingtons invited us over." Burr stares at him. "Well, they invited Lafayette and John over and Lafayette told them I was there too, so they included me."

"As in," Burr says slowly, "Dr. George Washington?"

"And his wife," Alex confirms. "I think Lafayette said her name was Martha."

"Of course," Burr says. "Of course you were. What a charmed life you must lead."

Alex snorts.

"Yeah, the kind of charmed life where everyone you love dies or abandons you and a hurricane destroys your hometown and you have to beg for money from strangers to afford to apply for college and get the hell out," he snaps. "Fuck off, Burr."

His hands are shaking a little, but he swallows it down. He shouldn't hit Burr--he probably wasn't trying to be an asshole. Plus, he isn't all bad. Right? They hung out all morning yesterday and it was fine.

Alex's phone buzzes before Burr can respond. It's a screenshot of Alex's contact page in John's phone with "Smug Shithead" in the name field. A second later, another text comes through.

_Waiting outside in parking lot B!_

"Gotta go," Alex says, holding up his phone. "My ride's here."

"Just...be careful, Hamilton," Burr says, in the same condescending tone he used last night. Alex resists the urge to flip him off and leaves the apartment before that resistance evaporates.

John's car is an unremarkable dark blue four door sedan that's probably ten years old but looks well taken care of. Alex gets into the passenger side and puts his bag in the backseat.

"Burr was back at the Dean's place," Alex says.

"Put your seatbelt on," John says, and Alex rolls his eyes, but does it.

"Anyway, Burr was back at the Dean's place being a shit about my staying out and you and lunch with Dr. Washington. It's difficult to remember why I liked him yesterday."

"He's pretty hot," John says. "So, I mean. Visually it was probably nice."

"I probably shouldn't punch you while you're driving, right?"

John smiles with all his teeth. It's a little dangerous. Alex is, predictably, into it.

"I just don't get it," Alex says. "I don't get--if you're not _passionate_ about something, why would you study it? And if you are passionate, how could you sit there and pretend to agree with people who don't believe it exists? Why is he so obsessed with appearances? Why does it matter to him who I sleep with or where I sleep? Even if you were like, an asshole who kicked me to the curb in the morning and gave me the cold shoulder for the next five years, how is that any of his business?"

"I don't know, man," John says. 

"Grad school is hard!" Alex continues. "I mean, I don't know from experience obviously, but I have read, you know, the fucking internet and fucking researched this shit. People lose their fucking minds over grad school, especially over something as intense as a parapsych PhD. Why the fuck would you pursue that if you didn't really _care_? Why would you put yourself through that?"

"I still have zero answers for you, but I'm gathering that you just want to hear yourself talk, so go ahead."

"It just doesn't make any _sense_! Even if he does want to publish in both fields or whatever, how is anyone going to take any of his stuff for either side seriously if he's not committed? He seemed so _cool_ and _normal_."

Alex keeps going. They're nearly at the Washingtons' by the time his rant ends. John sits patiently through the whole thing, which Alex thinks he would have done even if he hadn't been forced to by nature of being in a moving vehicle. Alex's Burr-inspired ire is nearly superseded by his joy in that alone, not even factoring in how cute John's little half-amused smile is and how much Alex wants to untie his hair and play with it and how, you know, low-key obsessive his crush is becoming

John pulls the car to a stop on the street in front of a neatly maintained two-story house that resembles all the other houses on the street. Lafayette's car is already in the driveway, along with a hybrid SUV and a station wagon. Unless this whole thing is an elaborate prank, he's about to have lunch with the man he's idolized for the past seven years, his first interaction with Washington in a social setting.

So, no pressure or anything.

John turns the car off and moves to unbuckle his seatbelt. Before he can open the door, though, Alex reaches out and grabs his wrist. Might as well get this over with before he has to juggle this _and_ his distant anxiety at sitting down for a meal with his potential mentor.

"Hey," Alex says. He hesitates for a moment, and in that moment, John darts forward and kisses him. It further derails Alex's train of thought and he barely resists the urge to slide his fingers into John's hair. He leans into it, though--after a moment of surprise, his rests his fingers against John's cheek and allows himself to be thoroughly kissed.

"Sorry," John says when he pulls back, cheeks flushed. "I just...wanted to do that."

"S'cool," Alex says. "I just want to tell you that I'm...really into you. More than I expected and more than I intended."

A smile slowly spreads across John's face.

"Good," he says, and then opens his door and hops out of the car. Alex stares after him, dumbfounded.

"Wait," he says once he gets his bearings. He grabs his bag from the back and stumbles out of the car, rushing to catch up with John. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means...." John shrugs and rings the doorbell. "'Good.'"

Alex stares at him. He doesn't elaborate.

"You're a pain in the ass," he says, just before the door opens.

Mrs. Washington is probably in her late forties and taller than Alex. Her curly hair is pulled back away from her face and her dark eyes are sharp as they take Alex in with a rapid once-over. She smiles at them and waves them inside.

"Mr. Laurens, it's lovely to see you as always," she says. "And you must be Alexander Hamilton."

"Yes, ma'am," Alex says. He resists the urge to fidget under her gaze. "Thank you for the lunch invitation."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Hamilton," she says. "I'm Martha, and I believe you've already met my husband. He's in the dining room with Gilbert--John, you know the way."

The Washingtons' house is like something off television. Alex can just see a teevee cop pacing through the tastefully decorated and pleasantly arranged living room, taking a look at the generic decor before he sits down and interviews the worried family of the week. Alex follows John down the hall to the dining room, where Lafayette and Washington are already seated, laughing over something. Alex's palms are sweating a little and he discreetly wipes them on his jeans.

"Ah, Mr. Laurens," Washington says when he catches sight of them. He's smiling and relaxed. He looks less towering and intimidating, and it's not just because he's sitting down. There's a clear difference between this Washington and the Washington that met Alex at Columbia. "How's the office supply business?"

"It's no longer my problem, sir," John says. "My last day was Tuesday and I think I inadvertently burned all my bridges by leaving before the back-to-school rush."

Washington chuckles and gets to his feet.

"And Alexander Hamilton. Good to see you again, son."

Alex pushes down his knee-jerk urge to bristle at being addressed as "son." He smiles and offers Washington his hand.

"Likewise, sir. Thank you for inviting me for lunch." 

Washington shakes his hand and gestures for Alex to take a seat at the table. John is already seated across from Lafayette, and Alex slips into the chair next to him. There's a covered pot on the table and bowls of cheese and sour cream. Each plate already has a foil-wrapped baked potato on it.

"It's no trouble," Washington says. "Might as well have three quarters of a lab meeting before our actual lab meeting. And if Gilbert and John have already adopted you, I can only imagine it's going to be an easy year as far as team-building goes."

"Hamilton and Laurens have been team-building since last night," Lafayette says sunnily and John chokes on his water. Washington just rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"That's enough of that," Mrs. Washington says. She leans over to take the top off of the pot and sticks a ladle in it. "Chilli and baked potatoes. The chili is vegetarian--" Washington sighs. "--and let me know if you'd like something else to drink. We have milk, cranberry juice, some sodas...."

"Water is fine, thank you, ma'am," Alex says and Mrs. Washington beams.

"I appreciate a good set of manners, Mr. Hamilton," she says as she takes her seat. "You might give Mr. Laurens' southern charm a run for its money." Beside him, John grins. "Now, there are a few rules for the table. First off, we do not discuss the details of any field work here, particularly anything that might put someone off their dinner. This isn't the place for war stories, save it for the university cafeteria. Secondly, we only speak English at the table." She shoots a look at Lafayette and then John, who both look down at their plates guiltily. "George doesn't know French and I haven't studied it since I was in college back when dinosaurs walked the earth. Do you speak French, Mr. Hamilton?"

Alex nods. "And Spanish. And I can hobble my way through Haitian Creole since I know French. And I can say a few things in Dutch, but, uh...the sort of things you pick up from sailors and school kids, so."

"Well," Mrs. Washington says, "stick to English at the table, keep with those table manners, and don't talk about bleeding walls and I think we'll get along fine."

"Yes, ma'am," Alex says.

Mrs. Washington keeps the conversation moving by asking them all a million questions about orientation and asking Alex an additional million questions about himself. He realizes that the answers aren't just for her benefit--John and Lafayette know the basics and John knows a little bit more, but he's still known these guys less than twenty-four hours, despite the near instant kinship he felt with them. So he doesn't hesitate to explain his early life on a tiny island in the Caribbean that they'd probably never heard of, his two years at Columbia, his job at Beekman and Cruger, and his ten year plan. It's only when he realizes that everyone else is halfway through their lunch and he's barely started that he pauses for breath.

"Did you figure out your housing, John?" Mrs. Washington asks as Alex attempts to eat his lunch before it goes stone cold.

"I need to go get my deposit refund and make it official and stuff, but I'm going to stay with Lafayette," John says.

"I'm so glad to hear that," Mrs. Washington says. "I know you think I'm silly, Gilbert, but I'd hate for you to be alone out there."

"Yeah," John says. "And I'd much rather have a roommate I know and like than deal with the crapshoot of grad housing."

"At least you have housing, in theory," Alex says, in between bites. "There was some mix-up with mine--they're scrambling to find a place for me to live, and I have a sinking feeling I'm gonna end up in the dorms with the undergrads or something."

"You could always stay with us," Lafayette suggests.

Alex freezes, fork halfway to his mouth.

"Really?"

"Of course," Lafayette says. "I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. But, as I have only two bedrooms, we would need to rearrange the living room."

"Or you could just stay with me," John says. Alex turns to him just in time to see his eyes widen and a blush bloom across his cheeks. "I just meant--we could share the room. Not like...move in together-move in together, because we've only known each other a day and who moves in with someone after a day, that's insane. That would be weird and I'm not like, a stalker. But we just seemed to click--I mean, in the friend way, not the other way--well, I guess in the other way too, but that wasn't what I meant, I just meant that it's a big room and you're welcome to share it and I won't like, molest you in your sleep or anything--not that you were worried about that? I hope you weren't worried about that. I'm still talking--why am I still talking?"

John looks seconds away from trying to kill himself with his potato to save himself the embarrassment of continuing to sit at the awkwardly quiet table. Alex has it fucking bad, because all of that babbling mostly just makes him want to make out with John again. He can't do that if John commits harakiri over his plate, so he rushes to fill the awkward silence. It's what he does best.

"No, that would be good," Alex says. "Great, I mean. It would be great. And when I was growing up, my brother and I had to share a bed all the time--" Shit, that's not what he meant. "--not that I think of you as a brother--but I can platonically bedshare, it's fine." That's not really what he meant either. "Or not platonically. I can also not-platonically bedshare if you want to not-platonically bedshare, but no pressure and I can like, sleep on the floor if you want or, you know. Whatever." Oh god. Oh god. John's foot-in-mouth disease has spread.

"I meant, uh, we could get single beds?" John says. His face is full-on burning up now, which Alex would think is cute except he knows his is too. Great. Sitting down for a meal with the man he wants to be his mentor, tripping all over himself because some hot guy is slightly endearing.

"Oh," Alex says. Of course he meant that. "Sorry, I made it weird. Did I make it weird? I made it weird."

"No, no," John says. "I mean--well, yeah, you made it a little weird, but it was already plenty weird to start with so...."

Lafayette sighs. "Please, do not make me immediately regret this invitation." 

Mrs. Washington clears her throat around what might be a laugh and Alex redoubles his focus on his lunch. He does kick John's ankle under the table, though, and John kicks back, which makes him feel pretty good about the housing situation regardless of what Lafayette thinks.

"Gilbert, how is Ms. Noailles?" Martha asks, and Lafayette's entire posture changes immediately. Alex raises his eyebrows, but Lafayette stares studiously down at his lunch. 

"We spoke over FaceTime yesterday evening, and she is doing quite well," Lafayette says, but ducking his head doesn't hide his blush. Interesting. "She finds her upcoming studies very engaging and sends her love and the love of her family." Alex slides his eyes towards John, who smirks. Alex can't help but think this is Mrs. Washington throwing them a bone. He definitely appreciates it.

Lafayette manages to wrest the conversation away and into a different direction. They talk a little bit about some papers that came out of the International Association of Parapsychology conference and other parapsych topics that are clean enough for the table, and before long, Lafayette is clearing the plates away while Dr. Washington looks at his watch.

"We should probably head back over to the school," he says. "We do have one more lab member to pick up before your real orientation."

"You should have invited him too," John says. "We could have saved some time."

"Well, I didn't want to make it awkward by making you have lunch with a stranger," Washington says. "I've told this to Gilbert and Laurens before, Hamilton, but anything that happens in this house is separate from our work. You're all here unofficially, and any disagreements we may have won't reflect your grades or assignments. Similarly, never feel that you can't turn down an invitation--I promise I won't take it personally."

Alex feels a little proud, a little giddy to be pulled into the fold like this. Less than a day in Morristown and Washington has allowed him into the inner circle. And, sure, it seems that's mostly because Alex is friends with Lafayette and Lafayette has some weird, complicated, familial relationship with the Washingtons, but still. He's never really _belonged_ to something before. Outside of the regular evening gatherings at Beekman and Cruger, where the old timers told stories and let Alex hang around and listen, he's never been in a club before. He's never been in any of the elite societies, any of the frats, even any of the study groups. Part of that was because he kept his head down, but part of it, he thinks, is that no one really wanted him there.

People here want him. People here like him. _Already_. George Washington likes him.

It's all a little heady.

"Thank you, sir," Alex says. "It's very kind of you to invite me into your home."

"Well, I trust Gilbert’s judgement when it comes to his friends," Washington says. "But, it's probably best for us to get back and meet Mr. Burr."

Alex doesn't mean to spray a mouthful of water all over the table, but he can't stop himself from sputtering and choking and making an inarticulate noise in shock. John thumps him on the back a few times, but it does little to help Alex catch his breath.

"Burr?" John says while Alex is still coughing. "Like, Aaron Burr?"

"Yes," Washington says slowly. Alex coughs again, trying to get water out of his lungs. "He’s your fourth labmate. I take it you know him?"

"You could say that," John says delicately. Alex wheezes through the last of his choking.

"Burr!" he manages to squeak. " _Aaron_ Burr?"

"We met Burr yesterday," John says, rubbing Alex's back as he clears his throat and coughs again. "Uh...I'm trying to think of a way to describe the encounter that won't make Mrs. Washington take back what she said about my southern charm."

"He's a skeptic!" Alex finally manages to say. "He isn't committed to the cause!"

"While I admit that Mr. Burr's neutrality isn't what I traditionally look for in a student for my lab, he's a dedicated paranormal historian, an excellent chemist, and has very good recommendations," Washington says. He's watching Alex and John closely, which is the only thing keeping Alex from shouting. "I chose the three of you on the strength of your essays, your previous work, and your progressiveness. You all work with a broad knowledge of global trends and are unafraid to be innovative and original in your methods. That being said, it's important to remember where we came from. It's important to have a traditionalist on board too."

"But--" Alex starts to say, the start of another rant about Burr's neutrality _undermining the entire field_ , part two of the one he graced John with in the car, but Mrs. Washington clears her throat before he can begin.

"Cookies," she says, thrusting little plastic baggies at Alex and John. Lafayette already has one--he's leaning against the wall, regarding Alex and John warily as he eats one. He meets Alex's eyes and raises his eyebrows, and Alex answers with a similar expression of disbelief. Burr. They're going to be working with Burr. Burr was one of the _four_ people Washington accepted into his lab. Burr, who thinks the skeptics might have some valid points.

It's good to know that Lafayette and John are on his side, at least.

"Well," Washington says, sighing, "it's good to know that at least the three of you are already working well together. All I ask is that you trust my judgement and that I do things for good reason. Go on back to campus and I'll see you in an hour or so."

"Yes, sir," John and Alex mumble in unison, getting to their feet and taking their bags of cookies. Lafayette lingers to hug Mrs. Washington goodbye, and then the three of them troop out of the house in silence. At least, until the door is closed firmly behind them.

"Burr!" Alex says.

"I do not _understand_ ," Lafayette says. "How can a skeptic be allowed in this program at all?"

"I know Burr's grandfather was, like, a really famous authenticant preacher," John says. "Maybe he flashed that name around a little?"

"I don't care who his family is or how good he is at fucking paranormal history and temporal reading and establishing setting and all that shit," Alex says, "I don't care if he's a good chemist! if he doesn't _believe_ \--"

"--then why the hell is he in this program and why the hell did Washington, of all people, pick him for our lab?" John finishes.

"Exactly!"

Lafayette lets loose a string of curses in French that leaves John and Alex nodding fervently. They stand in the driveway for a moment, all three of them staring silently, angrily into space.

"Maybe we won't actually have to work with him," John says. "Maybe there will be a lot of independent work and study." It sounds like the wishful thinking that Alex knows it is.

"Maybe this is all a joke of some sort," Lafayette says.

"Maybe," Alex says doubtfully.

"Either way, we will not find out until we get back to campus," Lafayette says. "Hamilton, why don't you have Laurens pick up your bags from wherever you're staying. If we need to--ah, what is the--self-medicate?--tonight, it is probably best to do that first."

"Right," Alex says. "I guess we'll see you back at the school."

"Try not to get lost in a bedroom on your way to retrieve your bags," Lafayette says. John flips him off cheerfully with both hands, but Lafayette just laughs and gets into his car. John and Alex watch him start the engine and then glance at each other and walk back towards John's car.

"Hey," John says, "this actually probably works out, because if I'm leaving housing and you don't need it, they'll have the space they need for Burr, right?"

Burr again. Fuck, he's never going to escape him.

"Yeah," Alex says. And then, watching the slope of John's shoulders as he walks towards the car, hands stuffed in his pockets, he adds, "About that."

John slows and turns around, leaning against the passenger side of the car. His expression is carefully bland as Alex approaches him. There's so much going on--Alex is used to the creeping boredom of island life and the solitary routine of focusing on nothing but school work. It's his second day at Morristown, though, and between the housing issues and meeting Burr and orientation and meeting Lafayette and Mulligan and John and sleeping with John and meeting Washington and finding out Burr is their labmate and--

Well, it's a lot. And it's important that he keeps it all straight and as smooth as possible.

"What's up?"

"I just thought I'd--you know, without an audience--let you know that if you think this is gonna be weird...." Alex shrugs. "I really appreciate the offer, but you and Lafayette are friends, and if you'd rather not have me moving in immediately after like, a day, I--"

John pushes himself off the car in one smooth movement. He slams into Alex's chest just hard enough to knock him back a few steps and then kisses him. 

Alex is winded, but not winded enough to keep from curling his hands up around John's shoulders and kissing him back. He can feel John smiling against his mouth and, fuck, this is _fun_. He's always thought that sex and flirting and all of that _could_ be fun, but it was usually more quick or awkward or perfunctory, depending on who he was with. Just being around John gives him a charge, touching him and joking with him. He likes the dumb flirty looks and the roughhousing and how quickly they can already communicate just by looking at each other. He _likes_ John, thinks he would like him even if sex wasn't a factor, but likes him even more because it is.

"That was more graceful in my head," John says when they finally stop kissing, John's hands still resting against Alex's chest, Alex's still clutching John's shoulders. "It was a whole like...fluid little movement where I answered your dumb question with a kiss instead of the hitting you like a sack of potatoes that I actually did there. Just so you know."

"I was into it," Alex says honestly, and John laughs and ducks his head and, yeah, Alex really likes him.

"Anyway," John says. "This is probably like, the worst idea I've ever had, including the time I decided to estrange myself from my entire family, but I don't think it's gonna be weird. I think you should come live with us. And if you decide, a week from now, that I'm an annoying fuck and you can't stand to be around me anymore--well, it'll probably make school awkward, but I can find somewhere else to live."

"Nah," Alex says. "I can find somewhere else to live if this blows up. You and Lafayette have been friends longer."

"By like, a month," John says, and Alex laughs.

"How about we cross that bridge when we come to it?" he says, and John grins and leans in to kiss him again. And Alex absolutely means to stop him, but, well, in the first few moments of having John's mouth on his, he forgets why.

Oh, right.

"We're basically making out on the Washingtons' front lawn," Alex says, pulling away just far enough to speak. He's still so close that when John opens his eyes, Alex swears he can feel the brush of his eyelashes.

"Probably not the most embarrassing thing I've done here this summer," John says, but he does slowly step back and drop his hands from Alex's chest. Alex's priorities are clearly garbage. "C'mon, let's get your shit, talk to housing, deal with orientation and this Burr thing, and then go drink and make out."

"I can get behind that agenda," Alex says, and gets into the passenger seat of John's car.

* * *

When they get back to campus, John parks in the small, permit-only lot next to the grad housing complex and leaves his hazard lights on. He follows Alex curiously into the ring of duplexes and runs into Alex's back when Alex stops short. Dean Knox is approaching the door to her apartment from the opposite walkway. She waves when she sees him, even as John swears quietly and steadies himself on Alex's shoulders.

"I was about to call you with an update," Dean Knox says as they converge on the front door. "Not a great update, but I thought it would be nicest to keep you informed." She opens the door and gestures for the two of them to enter. Alex gets about three steps into the apartment before he abruptly stops again and John slams into Alex's back again.

"What the hell is your problem, man?" John asks, and then he must see what Alex is seeing, because he's immediately quiet. Burr is standing by the couch, going through his backpack, regarding Alex warily.

"Burr," Alex says neutrally.

"Hamilton," Burr says. "And Laurens, too, I see. How unsurprising."

The urge to take a swing at Burr returns. Alex knows there was probably a reason he liked Burr yesterday, that will hopefully be enough to keep him from throwing a punch.

"Ahem."

And, more pressingly, there's a dean behind him, so he really shouldn't throw a punch.

"Dean Knox," Burr says, straightening up as Dean Knox steps out from behind John. "I didn't realize you were back. I was just getting some things for my lab meeting."

"No need to explain yourself, Mr. Burr," Dean Knox says. "Like I said, you have full run of the place until we get you somewhere to live. Which, wow, what an excellent segue."

Man, Alex really likes Dean Knox.

"Actually, Dean," Alex interrupts, "I think we may be able to save you some trouble."

Both she and Burr look at him. Alex and John glance at each other and Alex shrugs, indicating for John to start.

"I'm John Laurens," John says. He offers Dean Knox his hand, which she shakes. "It's nice to meet you. I put down a deposit for student housing, but I ended up moving into town a month early and had to arrange off-campus housing. It seems silly to move again, especially since my roommate and I have become good friends and the arrangement is working out well for us."

"And," Alex says, "there's enough room with John and his roommate for me too. And I met them yesterday and we really seemed to click--" Burr makes a quiet, derisive noise, but Alex ignores him. "--so we figured, if John and I are both moving off-campus, then you only need one housing spot for Burr, and if John had already secured housing, Burr can take his place--"

"And I refund you guys $800 each and the nightmare housing crisis of the spring is actually over for good and I can stop having anxiety dreams about it?" Dean Knox finishes. Alex and John glance at each other again and nod. "My wife will be extraordinarily pleased to hear that. I'll need to go into the office and make all of those changes and I probably won't be able to cut the two of you your refund checks until next...Wednesday? But this does seem like a feasible solution."

"Awesome," Alex says.

"This has been a weird twenty-four hours," John says, but he's smiling.

"Are you really sure this is a good idea, Hamilton?" Burr says, not smiling, because he's a killjoy.

"Yes," Alex says shortly. "I also think it's none of your business."

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

"And you're not my mother, so when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

"Gentlemen," Dean Knox says mildly. Alex glances over at her. At least she looks amused. "Where are you headed next?"

"Lab orientation," John says quickly. "We're meeting with Dr. Washington for an hour or two."

"Come by my office on campus after," Dean Knox says. "I'll have papers for you to sign and Mr. Burr's housing assignment and all manner of other bureaucratic nonsense for us to deal with."

"Great," Alex says. He narrows his eyes at Burr, who's still giving him one of those pitying, condescending looks. 

"Let's get your stuff and get out of here," John says quietly, and Burr's glare moves from Alex to him in one fluid movement. For a moment, Alex is afraid John is going to launch himself at Burr. For a moment, some weird protective thing kicks in, and Alex is afraid _he's_ going to launch himself at Burr on John's behalf. It passes quickly, though, and Alex grabs John's wrist and tugs him over to where Alex's bags are stashed.

"Thanks again for all your help, Dean," Alex says as he and John each take one of his bags. "I appreciate it, even if I didn't end up in housing."

"And I appreciated your patience," Dean Knox says. "This could have been a lot worse for all involved. I'll see you boys later, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alex, John, and Burr all chorus. Then, with one last sharp look in Burr's direction, Alex and John take Alex's bags back out to John's car.

And, okay, part of him understands why Burr thinks this is a bad idea. He's known John and Lafayette one day. He's slept with John and fully intends to sleep with him again--he _likes_ John, even, has this big stupid crush on him that just keeps growing. He and John and Lafayette are all in the same lab, and all of that would make it awkward enough if this all went to shit, but living together definitely adds another layer.

Alex doesn't think it's going to go to shit, though. He wouldn't say he goes through life optimistic--he's been fucked over by the world too many times for that. But this situation, this connection he feels to John and, to a lesser degree, Lafayette and Mulligan, it doesn't feel risky. It doesn't feel like a mistake. It feels like he's on the cusp of something important, like after years of treading water, his life is finally about to start, and it's going to be amazing.

He can't exactly explain that to Burr, and he shouldn't have to. He was right in saying it's none of Burr's business. But Burr obviously thinks he's making a mistake, obviously pities him and thinks he's stupid. Alex isn't stupid, and the thought of Burr going around thinking that--it makes his blood boil.

But there's nothing he can do. The best revenge will be proving him wrong, and as frustrating as it is to admit it, all he can do it wait for it to happen.

Washington only strengthens his faith that he's about to begin a crucial chapter of his life. He has the four of them sit along one side of a lab bench and he sits on the other. It's even more casual than lunch was, the five of them alone in the lab space, all gathered close enough to touch. 

"We're going to be working together for at least the next five years," Washington tells them once they're all settled. "And I do mean working--the people I choose for this lab are expected to be the best of the best. I trust that you're going to achieve great things and work hard to do so."

It's possible that Washington is the first authority figure outside of Mr. Stevens to have that faith in him. Damned if Alex isn't going to prove him right.

"I don't tolerate coasting by as a means to an end," Washington continues. "You'll have weekly responsibilities in this lab. Laurens and Hamilton, you'll be TAing for me this term and all four of you will have GA tasks to complete. I'll expect you all to teach for at least one term while you're here, and I expect you all to take and pass the Investigative Parapsychologist certification exam in mid-September. If you pass, I'll sponsor you for your probationary licenses and after two years, I'll sign off on your full certification."

If all three of them pass--and Alex is confident they will, easily--maybe he, John, and Lafayette can do some extracurricular field work together. Alex had always been planning to do some information gathering trips on his own once he had his probationary license, but it might be even better to do it with friends.

"You're free to use any of the lab equipment for any field research or field work you might decide to do, but I expect you to take care of it. You can use the databases and computers and do outside work in the lab, but work for this department should always come first. This is graduate school--I trust you, and I trust that you'll treat this as any other job. You all have the capability to be some of the premiere minds in this field, and I know you can live up to those expectations." 

Alex glances at John and Lafayette on either side of him. They look as nervously riveted as Alex feels, even Lafayette, who's known Washington forever. Everything else in Alex's life really was leading up to this.

"We'll go over the lab rules and your schedules a little later," Washington continues. "You can make this degree into anything you want it to be, but know that even if you want nothing but academic study, it's still incredibly dangerous, and I expect you to be cautious with your own lives and with each other's. You'll have plenty of time to delve into your own research, but you'll also be operating as a team fairly regularly. You will need to learn to trust each other, even if you don't like each other." He looks right at Alex when he says that. Alex tries not to flinch. "You're working in the most respected lab in the most respected parapsychology department in the country. The field has its eyes on you. That doesn't mean you can't have fun or be yourselves, but it means that I expect you to be composed and professional when representing this department. You'll have on your shoulders the legacy of this institution. I expect you to make me proud. And I know you will."

Alex swallows hard. A legacy is one thing he's never had to protect before; he's always been a no one and it's always been easy to shoot off at the mouth knowing that no one gave a shit what some dumb kid ranted about. He knows he has a short temper. He knows he has a tendency to pick fights and cause trouble and shake the foundations of what's acceptable if it stands in the way of what's right. He's never had money or power or prestige to help him, and while that's not exactly what he's going to have going forward, it's not dissimilar. He's not only representing himself anymore, he's representing Dr. Washington and Morristown University.

He's going to make everyone proud, if it's the last thing he does.

Washington goes on to detail the specific rules of his lab and the information they'll need to access and borrow equipment. He gives them all keys to the lab space and all the codes for the cabinets. He also gives them their schedules--there's a first year seminar that they're in together, but Alex's other seminar is "Parapsychology Ethics and Law," while John is in "Visual Analytics," Lafayette is in "Global Cultural Trends in Parapsychology," and Burr is in "Skepticism in the Age of Believers." Alex and John's classes meet in the same time slot and the two classes they'll each be TAing are also on the same days, which means getting back and forth between home and campus should be easy, at least. He's going to need to find a bike on Craigslist eventually, but at least now it's not an immediate concern.

"I'd like to take a moment to speak to each of you one on one," Washington says at the conclusion of his little speech. "We're done for the day otherwise--take the weekend to get situated in town and we'll meet again at 8am on Monday to go over some further specifics, but your key-cards are activated, so please feel free to come and go as needed. This is your workplace, now, even if classes don't start for another week and a half. You're adults, and I expect that you'll treat it with the respect it deserves, but you don't need me to watch over you as you work." 

He stands up, and Alexander moves for the first time in...well, he's not sure how long. He hasn't even been taking notes, really, just watching Washington with wide eyes.

"Gilbert, I'll meet with you first, as that should be quick. The rest of you can feel free to wander around, but don't go too far."

"Yes, sir," they all murmur, and Lafayette gets up too, following Washington across the lab and into his office. Once the door is closed, Alex turns to John. He knows he looks starstruck, and he's relieved to see that John looks the same way.

"I can't believe this is real," John says, which is precisely what Alex is thinking. "I mean...all that registration crap and walking around the labs and everything--I don't know, it didn't sink in until just now. This is real. George Washington recruited me for his lab. This is my _job_ for the next five years. Especially after--" He glances over Alex's shoulder, where Burr is still sitting. Alex looks too, somewhat unsurprised to see that Burr looks as unfazed and blank as ever. "--everything with...my dad," John says carefully. "I don't know. I'm talking nonsense. I'm really--"

"Overwhelmed?" Alex offers, and he can see in John's smile how relieved he is that Alex agrees. "Me too."

It would be a really touching moment if he couldn't practically hear Burr's disapproval radiating from their left. 

Lafayette is only gone for less than five minutes when the door opens again and Washington calls Burr in. Burr walks straight to the office without pause, but even that feels kind of like a snub.

"I'm going back to the apartment to make a call before it's too late in Paris," Lafayette says. "When you are finished here, we'll get dinner?"

"Adrienne?" John asks, smirking and raising his eyebrows. Lafayette gives him a flat look that Alex interprets as _yes, leave me alone._ "Hey, no problem, I know it must suck, what with being thousands of miles apart--"

"Goodbye, Laurens," Lafayette says, turning on his heel and marching out of the lab. Alex waits until he's gone before looking at John questioningly.

"Adrienne is Lafayette's girl 'friend,'" John says, complete with air quotes. "But they're totally in love, even if they won't admit it. Mrs. Washington and I like to give him shit about it. She lives in Paris, and he calls or Skypes her every day--she's into parapsych too, but mostly theory. She doesn't do field work or anything, and she has no interest in being certified, but she's a great resource on basically anything happening in Europe."

"Good to know," Alex says. 

"Yeah," John says, "'cause I'm sure if we're gonna be like, living together, he's going to spend a lot of his time being a little shit about it, so it's good to have fuel for retaliation."

Burr's meeting takes longer, long enough that John starts to get antsy. Anxious, Alex thinks, based on the nervous slant of his mouth, so after the third time he gets up and walks a short circuit of the room, Alex grabs his hand and squeezes it.

"You should chill," he says, and John flops into the chair next to Alex with a long, exhausted sigh.

"I feel worse than I felt when I did my interview," he admits.

"You're already in," Alex says. "There's no reason to be this nervous now, man."

"Yeah, you're right," John says, utterly unconvincingly. Alex squeezes his hand again.

"Well, you obviously don't think so. Something's obviously up. Did you lie in your interview? Or--well, you've been having dinner with Washington for weeks, so if you embarrassed yourself, you'd probably be over it by now. What's up?"

"Nothing," John says, still obviously lying. "You're right, I shouldn't be this twisted up--"

"But you are," Alex interrupts. "So. Spill. You'll feel better." Is he pushing this too hard? That's a friend thing, isn't it? Making your friends talk about what's bothering them?

"Wanna bet?" John says, mostly to himself, then sighs again. "It's not--um. Like I said last night? My undergrad major was Government and aside from one class on parapsych as a social service, I didn't do any of the usual groundwork. You and Lafayette and Burr have this foundation that I don't have, and--"

Alex waits for the 'and.'

And waits.

And then guesses.

"You think you're going to be behind?" he asks. John shrugs, studying a cluster of freckles on his wrist with unwavering scrutiny. "Four people!" Alex squeezes John's hand again for emphasis. "He picked four people! Out of hundreds of applicants! Maybe thousands! And then, after those were pared down to just the fifty or so parapsych grad students accepted this year, he still made you one of the _four people_ he personally handpicked for his own lab. I don't think he overlooked your fucking undergraduate major." John rolls his eyes and finally looks back to Alex.

"I'm just nervous," he says. "This is the first time--" He stops abruptly again and shifts uncomfortably. "You don't need to hear about my fucking 'poor little rich boy' shit."

"I was a full ride scholarship kid at an Ivy League school," Alex says. "You think I haven't heard worse?"

"Doesn't mean you want to hear more of it now," John points out.

Alex elbows him. "Go on."

"This is the first time I don't have a million years of Laurens’ precedent backing me up," John says. "And, yeah, that was its own kind of pressure, but overall--It was a fallback, you know? I never played that card--okay, well, once I got pulled over for speeding in a school zone, and I maybe used it then--but having that there...it was comforting. Knowing that I could fail. Knowing that if I wasn't feeling my best, I could let things slide and people would look the other way because I was Henry Laurens' son and John Laurens' grandson. This is gonna be me on my own, and if I'm not up to the task, I'm screwed."

"You will be," Alex says. "Up to the task, I mean."

"Alexander, you've known me less than twenty-four hours." But even though he sounds skeptical, Alex doesn't miss the relief evident on John's face. 

"I'm an excellent judge of character," Alex says. John snorts, but when he leans back in his chair, he doesn't let go of Alex's hand.

Burr comes out not long after that, shaking Washington's hand with a bland smile and a demure "it-will-be-a-pleasure-to-work-with-you" compliment. When he catches sight of Alex and John, he shakes his head, but says nothing.

"Mr. Laurens?" Washington says. John squeezes Alex's hand one last time and then hops to his feet. Burr watches him walk past with narrow eyes, which he turns on Alex as soon as the door to Washington's office closes.

"Careful, Hamilton," he says.

"I don't understand why you keep warning me off John Laurens," Alex says. "Because a) he's fucking great and b) you're not my damn mother."

"It's not Laurens I'm concerned about," Burr says, condescendingly vague as he grabs his bag and heads out. "I'll see you at Student Services."

"Whatever," Alex says, and pulls out his phone to check Twitter while he waits for his turn with Washington.

He only has to wait about fifteen minutes. He's halfway into a pointed Twitter fight with some skeptic blowhard when John exits Washington's office. He looks thoughtful and a little overwhelmed. Washington is directly behind him.

"And Mr. Hamilton, that leaves you," he says. "Step into my office."

Alex jumps to his feet and grabs his bag, eager to get started and, despite his blithe reassurance of John, more than a little nervous. John brushes Alex's hand when he walks by.

"I'll wait here, and when you're done we can deal with housing and drop your stuff off and get dinner?" he says. 

"Sounds good," Alex says, and then follows Washington into the office.

For some reason, perhaps out of respect, Alex had imagined Washington in a large, spacious, neat office with an intimidating desk and probably some of his many awards on display. It seemed befitting of the premier mind in the parapsych world, the nearly inarguable leader of the field. In reality, of course, Washington's office looks like any other working professor or investigative parapsychologist's office. It's a little cramped and a little narrow. His completely ordinary, standard-issue desk is covered with papers and books and various pieces of equipment. There are bookshelves crammed in along every wall, save for the back, where a couch is wedged into the space. Near the door is a spare lab table, stacked with what looks like everything that doesn't fit anywhere else.

It looks like every other professor's office, and that should put him at ease, but instead it ratchets up his nerves even further.

"Have a seat, Mr. Hamilton," Washington says, gesturing towards the two chairs crammed in front of his desk. Alex sinks into one of them, still glancing around and taking the office in. "Now, I know I don't have to tell you that you have an exceptional, once in a generation mind. I know I don't have to, because I'm rather sure you told me yourself several times in your interview."

"My foster father used to say that you only have one chance to make a first impression," Alex says. He should probably feel a little embarrassed about that but...eh.

"My wife has a similar saying," Washington says. "And you made quite an impression. Between your interviews and your application essays, you've made your ideas about the future of the field quite clear. I admire the spirit you're bringing to this institution--you said in your first application essay, I believe, that 'Parapsychology has long been a field that, at its core, is about repurposing long-practiced indigenous rituals to further the careers of white male scientists.'"

That's a direct, word-for-word quote. Alex is a little impressed.

"I believe that to be true, yes," Alex says.

"I happen to agree with you, though it's not necessarily a popular opinion," Washington says. "I think it's important that we study our roots and respect them for what they are. There's a tendency, in this field, to look down on anything that can't be quantified in a lab. There are still highly respected parapsychologists who use incantations and other belief-based tactics as a last resort, even when they're clearly the fastest solution to a problem, because those things don't make for good data."

And Alexander is trying to be quiet and attentive, he really is, but--

"And even that's changing, but only when they can take credit for it!" he exclaims. "There were not one but _two_ papers presented at the IAP Conference this summer that focused on ways that incantations and recitations could be turned into hard numbers, into something graphable and quantitative, and even though so many of those methods have been in use for years by native populations and in more spiritual practices, with astonishing results, now that a bunch of old white guys can turn it into a powerpoint, suddenly it's 'cutting edge' and they're winning awards like they discovered it for themselves!"

Washington's expression is hard to read, but Alex thinks he at least looks amused.

"Precisely," he says. "I think you're right in saying that our future comes through more inclusivity and a less jingoistic approach, and I also agree that accountability and further legislation play a large role in that. I think that, although you're slightly more optimistic about how far we can get in the next decade, your ideas on the larger world of parapsychology are sound."

"Okay," Alex says, after the pregnant pause that follows.

"What I'm curious about, Hamilton, is what you see as your role in the next five to ten years." Washington leans forward onto his elbows, studying Alex closely. "You're young and brilliant and, according to your transcripts, your papers, and your blog, you've done a little bit of everything. What would you like to focus on? Where does _your_ future lie?"

Alex knows that Washington asked a question in there somewhere, but he's still reeling from--

"Blog, sir?" he says weakly. Washington laughs and shakes his head.

"Son, you sent in three ten page application essays and a copy of the paper you coauthored last year," Washington says. "Did you really think that after reading nearly a hundred pages of your writing, I wouldn't recognize your style when I saw it? Did you think I wouldn't be able to put together the very specific life circumstances that landed you at Columbia with the same story chronicled on your blog?"

Well, crap. Maybe he's going to have to come out sooner rather than later.

"No offense intended, sir, I've just gone like, seven years without anyone figuring it out so far."

"I imagine that might change once you start working in this lab," Washington says. "Which brings us back to the question at hand. What are you here to do, Hamilton? Where are you headed? In your interview, we spoke about your ideas for the field and in your essays, you discussed what you want to personally accomplish. You have very lofty goals for yourself. How do we start to achieve them?"

A million glib answers leap into Alex's mind, but he knows that's not what Washington is after. He doesn't want a clever answer or a smart one, but something true. Something deeper than "with my IP certification exam."

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment and thinks about his ten year plan, the landscape of parapsychology, and all of the things he's been reading about in books since he was thirteen years old.

"I want to learn everything," he finally says, holding Washington's gaze. "And then I want to do everything. I need to figure out how to fit it all into five years. I need a plan."

He knows immediately that Washington understands how serious he is, and even if he didn't, he'd know from his response.

"Okay. Let's decide where to start."

When Alex emerges from Washington's office, his head is spinning pleasantly with the possibilities. He wants to pull out his laptop immediately and sketch out a timeline for himself, a chart of his new plan, a million new ideas for blog posts--a series, maybe, about the realities of life inside a serious parapsychology program. He settles for typing some notes furiously on his phone as he wanders back out into the lab where John is perched on the edge of a table. He thinks he might be grinning a bit maniacally when he finally shoves his phone back into his pocket and meets John's eyes.

"Good meeting?" John asks, fighting a smile.

"I'm pretty pumped," Alex says. "There's so much to learn, you know? It's amazing."

"Yup," John says. "I'm a little dizzy."

"Me too," Alex admits, although it doesn't stop him from slipping right into John's personal space. "Buzzing."

"I wasn't joking about no sex in my car," John says, resting his hands against Alex's shoulders. "So, why don't we go fix our housing shit and then head back home and give Lafayette's Skype call a really interesting background soundtrack?"

"You're a little mean, and I like that."

"I'm a lot mean," John clarifies. He kisses Alex quickly on the mouth and then tugs him towards the door by the placket of his shirt.

"Please don't kill Gilbert or give him reason to kill you," Washington says as they leave. Alex had forgotten he was still there. "It's not even day one. It's possible I've set myself up for five years of trouble."

"Probable, I'd say," John says.

Alex agrees. And he's definitely looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me as I was walking to the main Con hotels that many people read fic in their phones and don't have easy access to hover text! So, here is a rough translation of the conversation in the kitchen:  
> Laf: Mr. Hamilton, you're still with us!  
> John: I told you.  
> Laf: It doesn't seem like your usual style.  
> John: You've only known me two months, you don't know my usual style. (In English: I contain multitudes.)  
> Alex: Now I want to know what your usual style is.  
> Laf: You speak French?  
> Alex: Yeah, it's my first language.


	4. Chapter Three: Anxiety and Bribery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have their first experience in the field. John has a hidden talent. Alex has mounting test anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the town where I grew up, a vague reference to the town I live in now, and a recreation of my father's very strange show of determination post-Hurricane Sandy.
> 
> Also, oh my god, I can't tell you how much joy I get out of every fucking comment on this story. I NEEDED THIS VALIDATION SO BADLY. I know it's bad to be that publicly needy, but..........I am definitely that needy.)

"Gentlemen, before you go off for your weekend plans, can I have a word?"

It's around four on a Friday at the end of the first official week of the semester and two weeks to the day from the first time Alex stepped into Washington's lab at MUNJ. He's at his already messy work table in the middle of typing up the first essay in a new series for his blog documenting the realities of a parapsych PhD program. Next to him, John is curled over a notebook, writing something as he waits for a video to render on his computer. When Alex twirls around to look at Washington, he sees Lafayette reading from a text book and Burr rooting through the chemical storage cabinets. He hadn't even heard the other two come in.

John finishes whatever he's writing--or not writing--and turns around as well. He closes the book too fast for Alex to get a second look, but it definitely looks like he was drawing, not writing. From the brief glance Alex managed, the drawing was pretty good.

That will be a conversation for later, though. For the moment, Alex shifts his attention to Washington, who's leaning against the empty lab table next to Lafayette.

"The IP certification exam is in two weeks," Washington says, "which I know you're all aware of, as you're all registered to take it. While preparing you for that particular exam isn't necessarily a part of our curriculum, I want you to have every tool at your disposal in order to best prepare yourselves. I have no doubt that you'll all do remarkably well, based on your work so far alone, but my lab has historically managed the highest scores at MUNJ, a precedent that I, as well as the rest of the parapsychology staff in the exam betting pool, take very seriously. I don't plan to walk away from the exam $200 poorer.”

Alex can’t help but raise his eyebrows appreciatively at the revelation.

“So, this is entirely optional, but next Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as well as the Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday of the following week, I will take anyone who's willing on local field assignments. Despite pressure from the National Council, the IP certification exam does not yet include a practical component, but I find that actually doing the work is a better way to learn it than reading it in a book. This is in no way required, but it will be useful, and I'll make sure the hours logged in the next two weeks will count towards your yearly required field hours, even though you're not certified yet."

When Alex glances at John, John is glancing at him, and they both meet Lafayette's eyes across the room.

"I'm in," Alex says.

"Me too," Lafayette and John chorus.

"It would be silly to walk away from this," Burr says, which isn't actually a response, when Alex pauses to think about it, but Washington seems to take it in the affirmative.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Washington says. "We'll be leaving at 6:30pm on each of those evenings. I suggest eating dinner beforehand. Have a good weekend if I don't see you after my meeting."

The four of them murmur variations of _goodbye_ as Washington gathers his notebooks and tablet and exits the lab.

"This is going to be _amazing_ ," Alex says, as soon as the door is shut. "Just four of us and Washington? Way better than the dumb field trips I took at Columbia with a professor, two TAs, and fifty other students. And probably way more haunted than the shit we saw."

"I hope so," Lafayette says. "When I was visiting the Washingtons on my school breaks from Brown, I was invited to tag along on a trip or two in a strictly, ah--" He twirls his fingers for a moment until he grasps the word he's looking for, or near enough. "--observational role. But ever since I arrived this summer, George has been very strict about waiting until the school year started."

"Princeton was the same way," Burr says. "And Princeton has a parapsych Masters and certification, so we really got stuck with the worst of the batch--anything remotely good that came to the department was given to the post-grads."

"And just think," Alex says. "Two weeks and we won't even have to have Washington babysit us; we'll be able to go out and do this shit on our own."

Lafayette smiles and so does Burr: a real smile, something more than the usual bland, inoffensive grin he shows everyone all the time. John is more reserved, twirling a pencil between his fingers. Alex is pretty sure something is bothering him, but in the past two weeks he's learned that getting John to _say_ what's bothering him is more difficult than he expected. For someone who almost compulsively told Alex his life story the night they met, he's incredibly cagey about what he's feeling and why.

Alex rests his hand on John's knee as Lafayette begins to relate a story from one of his trips with Washington a few years ago, and that's enough to win him a half-smile, which tides him over until the story is complete and Burr is off to meet some people for dinner. 

"You two please eat," Lafayette says when Alex broaches the same topic. "I want to finish this reading. But I will meet you at the Frog later, if you are still planning on seeing Hercules." 

Among the many kernels of campus culture that Alex has been picking up this week, he's learned that The Further Frog, the bar where he first met his friends, is really the only place that MUNJ grad students bother to hang out in their downtime.

"I think so," John says. "He's been pretty absent this week, and he did promise us he'd bring us some of those new chalk compound samples."

"Then I will see you there," Lafayette says, and waves them away, turning back to his book. 

"Do you wanna just go get sandwiches at the cafe?" John asks.

"Do you want to split one sandwich and then order a fuckton of wings at the Frog because it's two-for-one night?" Alex suggests instead. 

John grins. "I knew there was a reason I liked you. Come on."

They leave Lafayette in the lab and slowly wander the quiet halls. The few Friday afternoon classes are in session and almost everyone else seems to be out either enjoying the weather or getting ready for the first big party weekend of the year. Alex tries to be content with walking in silence, but that's never really been his strong suit.

"If I ask you a question, do you promise not to be weird?"

John looks over at him raising one eyebrow, a hereto unknown trick that is really more sexy than he was expecting.

"I think it'll probably depend on the question, so I don't know that I can make that promise," he says.

"So, I always see you leaning over and writing when you're bored and I figured you kept a diary--" Recognition lights in John's eyes, but he doesn't cut Alex off, at least. "--but then today, I wasn't _spying_ or anything, but I saw your notebook as you put it away and it looked like a sketchbook? Are you drawing all the time?"

John sighs and tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling as they continue through the halls.

"Yes," he finally says. He looks back at Alex. "Yeah. I draw. And take pictures. But it's not--" He licks his lips and then stops talking abruptly. 

Alex waits for a moment, unsure if he's going to continue.

"Can I see?" he asks when it's clear John is choosing to remain silent. 

John winces at Alex's question. "Can I think about it?" He must catch the look on Alex's face, because he quickly adds, "It's nothing personal. I just don't really show people. Or talk about it. It's something I used to do sort of...with my mom? Or because of my mom. And, I don't know, it's always felt really...private."

"Oh," Alex says. 

"But...I can maybe show you...some stuff," John relents. "I don't want you to like, look through any of my sketch books because most of it is garbage--" Alex already knows that's probably not true "--but remind me tonight when we get home."

There should probably be some positive reinforcement for John actually agreeing to share something he typically keeps private, so Alex stops walking and grabs John's wrist. He lays one hand at the small of John's back to press him slightly closer and uses the other to cradle his cheek. Then Alex kisses him.

It's not a dirty kiss, or even a particularly passionate one. Their mouths come together once, twice, and they share one lingering breath before Alex releases John and pulls back. Still, John is flushed and looks almost embarrassed.

"It's not that big a deal," John mutters, looking away, but when they continue down the hall, he walks a little closer to Alex, their hands brushing on every other step.

***

Alex starts making a list of things he'd like to investigate in a real, uncontrolled haunting while they're at the Frog on Friday night. By Sunday, the list is five pages long, single-spaced, and he's editing it on the couch while John and Lafayette are watching television. He's sunken down in the corner of the couch, back up against the arm, his legs thrown over John's lap and his laptop resting against his thighs. He's in the zone, focused intensely on the words he's writing and editing, the organization of his list, the organization of his thoughts, right up until John starts tapping rhythmically on his knee. Even then, it takes him a moment or two to pull himself out of his own head and look at John, who's regarding him with faint amusement.

"Come on, idiot, I need you to move," he says for, Alex would wager, not the first time.

"Huh?"

"I've gotta go to bed, which I can't do with your bony ass on my lap."

Alex is about to point out that a) Alex's ass isn't even technically _on_ John's lap, and b) at least twice in the past two weeks John has absolutely passed out with Alex on top of him, ass and all, when he notices the time.

"It's not even eleven-thirty," he says.

"Yup," John says. "Excellent reading skills. I can see why everyone calls you a genius."

"No," Alex says, shifting a little so John can slide out from underneath him, "I mean--we don't have class until twelve-thirty tomorrow, and we normally don't hit the lab before eight-thirty or nine." Meaning John normally doesn't go to sleep until closer to one or two. Alex has trained his body into thriving on about four hours of sleep, so he can usually keep working another few hours after John turns in, even if that occasionally means slipping out of bed after they've had sex and John is asleep.

"I start my library job in the morning," John says. "I'm pretty sure we talked about this on Friday."

"I'm pretty sure we didn't," Alex says, which is a lie. There are entire swaths of Friday night that he lost to his checklist and a particularly nasty fight he was embroiled in on Twitter. It's wholly possible John talked about this in detail and Alex just...missed it.

"My work study job in the library starts tomorrow," John says. When Alex gives no indication of remembering, he adds, "Three days a week plus whatever extra hours they can give me? Six am to ten am? But I need to be there at five-thirty tomorrow because it's my first shift? So if you want a ride with me you either need to be ready at five-twenty or wait for Lafayette?"

"Yeah, I don't remember any of that," Alex admits. "And I'm confused, because I thought you had the same stipend I do."

"I do," John says. "We talked about this too. Jesus, did you look up from Twitter at all on Friday?"

"Just to play darts and then make out when Lafayette and Herc were up," Alex says. John rolls his eyes.

"The stipend covers housing and incidentals, but even with the extra money from TAing this term, I still need to buy gas and groceries and shit," John says. "I basically killed my savings in the month and a half I was stuck in Cambridge without a job, and I wasn't able to sneak away with quite as much as I'd hoped before my dad locked me out of my accounts, so there wasn't that much to start with."

Plus, Alex has a feeling that John maybe wasn't prepared for the culture shock of having to track his spending to the penny.

"He just cut you off?" Alex asks. "No safety net?" He'd suspected as much, but he hadn't spent much time thinking about the reality of that shift. Jesus.

"Nope," John says. "I was lucky--I had a few months between the time I decided I definitely wasn't going to law school and the time I had to actually admit to him that I hadn't applied to any law schools and had, in fact, been accepted here. I managed to make a handful of withdrawals small enough to escape the notice of our accountant and then like, sold a lot of my high end shit."

"Seriously?" Alex asks.

John shrugs. "Yeah. I had a much nicer car that I sold and bought the used Camry instead. I sold a lot of my photography equipment and all the other amateur parapsych stuff I'd accumulated under the assumption that I'd have access to it here. My tablet, some spirit boxes, an EMF detector...it was enough to get by for a while, until I got down here and got a job."

"Huh," Alex says. And, actually, when he pauses to think about it, his income is pretty heartily supplemented by blog earnings. Hell, he lived the whole summer in Manhattan without taking another job, just cracking into the last of his savings and living off his blog. And he doesn't even have to worry about gas and car shit, although maybe he should start throwing a little cash John's way to cover that stuff considering he has a feeling John's going to be driving him around more often than not. "Six to ten, though, that's crap."

"Yeah," John says. "But it was what was available, it's regular, and it pays two dollars more an hour than any other shift."

Alex saves his documents, puts his laptop on the floor, and stands up to stretch. "Okay, let's do this sleep thing, then."

"You don't have to," John says. "Stay up and work or whatever, it's fine. Laf already said he'd drive you in tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, but I can just as easily work at the library in the morning." He takes John's hand and tugs him towards the hall. "C'mon. I'll help you fall asleep."

"And how do you figure you'll do that?" John asks, but he's already following along, grinning in anticipation.

"It's an old folk remedy people have been using for ages," Alex says. "It mostly involves my mouth and your dick."

"I'm pretty skeptical of holistic medicine, but I think you can convince me to give it a whirl," John says, and Alex pulls him into their bedroom to do just that.

***

Five twenty comes really disgustingly early, even for Alexander, who normally only gets three or four hours of sleep a night. John seems to be dealing with a bizarre mixture of jittery nerves and exhaustion, blinking hard to keep his eyes open, but shaking his leg nervously and pacing in the few minutes it takes Alex to gather his things so they can leave.

"It's just a lot for one day," he explains once they're in the car. "New job, and then tonight I'll be in the field for the very first time, and I can't pretend I haven't been shitting myself over that all weekend."

When Alex pushes past all the time he spent writing this weekend and focuses on John, he does remember John being a little more antsy than usual.

"Yeah, but we're all in the same boat," Alex says. "You heard us on Friday--none of us have led fieldwork before." Actually, he can't remember John saying anything at all on Friday. He had been there, right?

"It's not that I haven't led fieldwork before." John stares at the road, the set of his shoulders tense. "I literally have never been in the field before. I studied Government in college. And there's no shortage of parapsychologists in the greater Boston area, so it wasn't like the campus IAP group got a lot of chances to go out in the field. I've been in a few haunted places, but not in a parapsych capacity--you just can't go five feet in Boston without tripping over a haunting."

"Yeah," Alex says, "but still. The sort of shit we did in undergrad is barely any different than reading about technique in a book. We don't have a leg up on you or anything."

"No, I know," John says. "I know, logically, that we're all on the same level, but it feels...different. It feels like...like, when I got my learner's permit, all these other guys I knew had already driven their dad's car around the back roads or had been allowed to pull in and out of the driveway, or do a careful loop around the property. And I had been living in Geneva--I'd literally never been behind the wheel of a car. And it wasn't a huge difference but...it _felt_ huge."

Alex doesn't have much to offer if John already knows he's being illogical, nor can he relate to the analogy, really. He curls his hand around John's knee and turns John's words over and over.

"Stick with me, then," he finally says. "Because even if, by some chance, you _are_ further behind than we are--which, just to reiterate, you definitely aren't--you know I don't give a shit. And you know I won't judge. At least, I hope you do."

"I do," John promises. "And I'll be fine, really. I'm just overthinking things. It's six in the morning, my brain's a mess."

Alex lets the conversation drop after that, much to John's obvious relief. And it's not long until they're at the school; there's no one on the road, and the world seems eerily silent. The sun hasn't even risen yet. Alex would wager, as John pulls into a parking spot behind the parapsych wing, that there are kids on campus who haven't even gone to sleep yet.

There's a girl with spiked green hair and a giant ring of keys unlocking the library when they arrive.

"John Laurens?" she asks, pointing back and forth between the two of them. 

John raises his hand.

"This is my--um, boyfriend?" John glances at him questioningly. Alex shrugs and nods. Was that a conversation they were supposed to have at one point? "My boyfriend," John repeats with more certainty, "Alexander."

"He's my ride, so I'm just gonna work while he works," Alex says, lifting his bag.

"Well, John Laurens and his maybe-boyfriend Alexander, I'm Josie King," she says. "I'm head of Library Student Services, and they've shunted the student workers under that umbrella, so I'm more or less your boss."

She opens the front door of the library and ushers them both inside.

"So, I'm going to take you over to the desk and run you through the general procedures," she continues. "Maybe-boyfriend Alexander can hang tight in one of the study areas for the moment. In all honesty, the six to ten shift is usually dead until about nine-thirty, when the eight am classes get out, and as long as your shift supervisor is okay with it and there's no one around, he can hang out wherever you're working. To _work_." She emphasizes the last word by pointing accusingly at both of them. "No making out in the stacks when you're supposed to be working."

"Understood," John says.

"Laurens, come with me. Maybe-boyfriend Alexander, I'll see you later."

Alex waves them off and wanders around the half-dark library to the study carrels. Sure, the library is usually pretty quiet in the study areas, but there's always ambient noise. At five-thirty, his typing is so loud in the half-lit room that it takes him fifteen minutes to really get into the paper he wants to start.

He eventually goes into a writing trance and is only pulled out again when his phone buzzes around six thirty.

_in the computer lab on the second floor_

The lights are on now, and Alex passes a couple of other library workers sitting behind desks and in computer rooms, but the library is still otherwise empty, as is the lab where John is slumped over.

"My job today is to monitor this lab," John says once Alex has slid into the seat next to him. "As you can see, it's going to require all my concentration."

"I'll make sure you don't fall asleep," Alex promises him.

"I knew I liked you for a reason. Jo said you can hang around as long as there's not more than three students in here. She also told me to watch out for the Library Director who is, apparently, an asshole and not a trained librarian. I've sort of inferred that most of the actual library staff hates him because of some combination of those two things, but Jo says he's hardly ever around."

"Good to know," Alex says. "So they're paying you to sit in an empty room for three and a half hours?"

"That's about the size of it." John shrugs. "It's better than my last job. I can get work done, at least." He holds up a hefty looking book full of glossy case photos. The same photo, actually, repeated over and over again across two pages. "They're all taken with different settings," John adds in answer to Alex's unvoiced question. "A couple of them are just pointless, but generally it's a great way to see what settings work best for different types of spirits."

They look exactly the same to Alex, which is probably why visual analytics has never held his interest.

"It'll be a good primer for tonight," John continues. "I mean, if Washington lets me do photos and video."

"I think you'd be the only one of us that would want it," Alex says, but the reminder of their evening plans leaves him itchy to put aside his paper and do one last pass on his list.

Twelve hours. Twelve hours until they're out in the field with George Washington.

The remainder of John's library shift passes in silence--there's never more than one student at a time in the lab, and none of them need any assistance or have any questions. John's supervisor returns for the last ten minutes of the shift, but she immediately pulls out her laptop and gets to work. She waves absently at them as they go. pulling out her own laptop and typing furiously without acknowledging them with more than a wave when they pack up their things to leave.

The anxious energy is twice as bad in the lab, where Lafayette and Burr are equally impatient to get through the day. Even Alex's afternoon classes are a struggle to get through. His gaze shifts to the clock every other minute, counting down until the end of the day. After classes, the four of them order pizza and pick at it until finally, at 6:20, Washington returns to the lab.

He was, perhaps, not prepared to see all four of them staring at him intently the moment he turned around.

" _Jesus_ ," he hisses when he sees them. "I imagine this means that you're ready to head out?" They all nod. "I don't know why I'm surprised. Let me get your materials."

Washington ducks into his office and returns with a stack of one-inch binders that he passes out to each of them. Once they're all flipping through, he perches on the table across from their workstations.

"Now, normally you start this process earlier--you conduct the initial interview with the client or read the submitted report and then complete a PoA--a Plan of Action. Since I'll be leading this investigation and it's largely educational, I've taken those steps already. If you open your binders, you'll see the PoA for this case along with the background notes and research I've done and a more detailed explanation of what each of you will be doing on site. Of course, in a real life scenario, you'll be working largely on instinct and research rather than a pre-established set of instructions, but as this is your first time in the field, we'll start slowly."

Alex skims the PoA quickly--the assignments are roughly what he would have created himself. John is on cameras, both still and video, Lafayette is on audio recorders and EVP, Burr is doing the walkthrough interview with the clients, and Alex is on environmental tech--all the things that track heat and motion, EMF, and environmental changes.

"When we get to the house, I'll introduce you to the clients," Washington continues. "Mr. Burr will lead the walkthrough, and the three of you can set up your equipment and take your samples as you see fit based on the information given to you. If all goes according to plan, all of that should take about an hour, after which we'll reconvene and pool our collected knowledge. If the answer is clear, we'll take the necessary steps to rid the house of the spirit. If we need more time to analyze the evidence, we'll meet up before your classes in the morning and return to the site tomorrow evening. Any questions?" 

Silence. 

"Well, get them all out tonight--the next one you're leading while I observe. The third one you'll do on your own and report back to me at the conclusion. Now, get your gear together and be ready to leave in fifteen minutes."

There's another protracted moment of silence. The four of them look at each other and then back at Washington and, as if a starter pistol has gone off, they jump to their feet and begin to work.

It doesn't take long for Alex to pack his gear. Among the notes on his extensive list of field work reminders are sublists of all the equipment he would bring for any of the particular roles in the case. He fits his EMF meters, infrared sensors, motion detectors, room scanners, and Mel meters in their case easily enough, then packs another bag with additional thermometers, a spirit box, back-up batteries, strands of bells, a few other odds and ends, and an exorcism kit--just in case. When his cases and messenger bag are resting neatly by the door, he wanders over to John.

There are two different hard equipment cases on the table in front of John, each filled with all sorts of cameras and wires and laptops. He has a camera in his hands as well, a chunky black one with a long lens he's fiddling with.

"Smile," John says, raising the camera, and before Alex can so much as blink, he hears the shutter click several times. John lowers the camera and inspects the digital screen, shifting through the photos and then going into the settings to make some adjustments.

"I'm terrified just looking at that thing," Alex says. "I think it’s worth more than the collective value of everything I own."

"So is half the equipment we use," John murmurs.

"Yeah, but I know how to use that stuff," Alex says.

"Learning to use a camera isn't any harder than learning to use a Mel meter, you know." John makes one final adjustment and then raises the camera again. 

Alex holds both his hands in front of his face. "Test that on something else."

"I need the same subject to do a real comparison," John says with a butter-wouldn't-melt smile, and Alex sighs and lowers his hands so John can snap a few pictures.

"Anyway," Alex continues. "Using a _camera_ isn't hard. Using a camera that has special settings and filters and and needs to be manually whatever-the-hell you're doing to it...as hard as it is to believe, there are things that are beyond me."

"I don't think it's hard to believe at all." John lowers the camera and clicks through the photos again, smiling in satisfaction.

"Shithead," Alex says fondly. 

"And here I was about to tell you how much I like your face." John turns the camera around so Alex can see the display, which currently features him giving the camera a flat, skeptical look. 

"Yeah, yeah," Alex says. He's definitely not blushing. "You ready to head out?"

John surveys his cases one last time and then closes and secures them both.

"Yeah," he says. He puts a lens cap on the fancy camera and hangs it around his neck. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's go."

They quickly pack the equipment into the department van and pause only briefly for John to load the address into his phone just in case he loses the van in traffic. Alex can feel himself buzzing with adrenaline as he buckles himself into the passenger seat of John's car. John seems to be buzzing too, but it's not excitement that's making him jiggle his knee--Alex can tell by the tight slant of his mouth.

"Hey," he says. He squeezes John's shoulder. "Remember--stick with me. It's gonna be fine."

"I know." John rolls his eyes, but he doesn't stop shaking the leg that's not operating the gas pedal. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, whatever, asshole," Alex says, because it seems easier than arguing with him further when they're minutes away from starting their first field investigation.

It's not a long drive to the site, and it's largely against evening traffic. By the time they turn off the highway in Parsippany and head down the road, they're about fifteen minutes from school, all told. They follow the directions that John's phone reads out to them until they've pulled up in front of the same house pictured in their case binders. John kills the engine, and they sit silently in the car for a moment, just staring at it.

They've seen the house in pictures before, but it's somehow more intimidating in the twilight. It's a two story colonial, same as every other house on the block-- a row of duplicate buildings in different colors. This one is forest green and well maintained, with a garden along the driveway and rhododendron bushes on either side of the front entrance. It has solar panels on the roof, glinting in the last of the day's light. 

"This is it," John says. Alex can hear his nerves in his voice. Hell, Alex can feel his own nerves jangling from head to toe, vibrating with anticipation.

"This is it," Alex agrees.

The van isn’t far behind them, but for the moment they're still alone on the quiet suburban street. The cars and landscaping up and down the block practically scream upper-middle class. There are well maintained sidewalks dotted with trees and the distant sound of a child's voice and a dog barking joyfully. It looks kind of like something out of a movie, it's so far removed from Alex's experience. It doesn't seem real.

It is, though, and he rolls his shoulders and unbuckles his seat belt. Outside of the car, he smooths down his shirt--the same mostly-nice short-sleeved button down he wore to that first lunch with the Washingtons--and pats his hair to make sure he still looks put-together and professional. John follows a moment later, camera in hand, and does the same thing. He's got a cardigan on over a collared shirt and something about the combination makes Alex a little goofy with affection and attraction. He pushes it out of his mind for the moment--he'll save that for a reward, peeling John out of that sweater. He has a job to do and, to be honest, right now that seems infinitely more exciting than sex.

The van turns down the street just as Alex is pulling his bag out of John's car and closing the door. It pulls into the driveway and Alex turns to John, but his question--should we move the car?--dies on his lips. John is pale and chewing his lower lip, anxiety written across the furrow in his forehead. Alex watches him for just a moment and then makes a decision.

"Come here a minute," he says. Washington hasn't even cut the engine on the van yet. He has a second, which is all he needs.

"Yeah?" John hangs the camera over his shoulder and approaches the passenger side of the car, frowning a little. Alex reaches out and takes his hand as soon as it's in reach, then pulls John all the way towards him, all the way up against him. "Alex--" John starts to say, but Alex doesn't let him finish. He takes John's face gently between his hands and kisses him. It's sweet. Lingering. Mouths moving together, but nothing that would be out of place in a PG movie. He pulls away slowly, disengaging bit by bit once he hears the doors to the van open. He opens his eyes just in time to see John opening his own, then blinking rapidly.

"Just breathe," Alex says. "You've got this."

"Yeah," John says. They smile at each other for a second, and then the moment's gone--Burr and Lafayette are getting out of the van, already talking, and John and Alex split apart to help unload equipment. They've hardly pulled the first of it out, when the client comes out to greet them. It''s a woman in her early fifties with greying blond hair and reading glasses perched on the top of her head. She gives them the briefest of awkward glances, the way middle-aged white women usual glance at bunch of black and brown kids clustered together, as she extends her hand to Washington.

"Dr. Washington?" the woman says. 

"Mrs. Forrest," Washington says. "I believe I spoke with your husband?"

"Yes," she says. "He's on the phone--he'll be out in a moment." She turns to the rest of them. "I'm Susan Forrest." She offers her hand to each of them in turn and they introduce themselves as they shake.

"As I discussed with your husband," Washington says once the introductions are made, "these gentlemen are my students--PhD candidates that I advise at the college. I assure you they're all brilliant and I'll be monitoring them closely."

"That's fine. Whatever you need to do. We'd just like to get rid of this thing."

"Understandable," Washington says. "If you give us a moment to get our equipment, we can begin the walkthrough and make an assessment."

Mrs. Forrest nods, and Alex goes back to pulling the equipment cases out of the back of the van and collecting his survey equipment. John, meanwhile, is staring at the house, frowning. He leaves the rest of them to walk to the end of the driveway and snap a few pictures of the front of the house before he rejoins them to shove a mini camcorder in his pocket and gather a few more camera accoutrements.

When the four of them are ready, Washington nods towards the house.

"Mr. Burr, you lead."

Alex is all but bouncing as he follows behind Burr and Mrs. Forrest, Mel meter in hand. He's about to walk into a haunting. To investigate. It's really happening.

"So," Burr says as they walk up the front steps, "In Dr. Washington's report, it says this started about a week ago?"

"It did," Mrs. Forrest says. "We've been living in this house for almost sixteen? I think sixteen years. The previous owners didn't report anything strange, and we've never had a problem before."

"That's not uncommon, Mrs. Forrest," Burr says. Alex has to admit he has a smooth, personable way of talking to people. "Anywhere has the potential to become host to a haunting--we're still not sure what causes hauntings to start, but it happens all the time. It's not indicative of anything you've done."

"Oh, I know that," Mrs. Forrest says. "I'm not a skeptic or a religious fanatic--I guess if I were, you wouldn't be here."

"True enough," Burr says, laughing a little.

On one side of Alex, Lafayette has on a bulky pair of over-the-ear headphones. They're attached to a recorder he has in his hand, and he holds the microphone attachment in his other hand. He waves the microphone slowly around the room as they move forward. On Alex's other side, John is snapping pictures of each room, considering every nook and cranny with sharp eyes. Alex, meanwhile, is half-listening to Burr and Mrs. Forrest as he paces each room with his Mel meter, checking for changes in temperature or electromagnetic fields.

The downstairs has a living room, dining room, kitchen, and den, which they move through quickly. There's little activity of note, just wisps of something off-kilter, the after-effects of parapsychic energy lingering in the room. Mrs. Forrest, joined by her husband when they reach the kitchen, tells them about the noises that started about a week ago and how they slowly evolved into voices, movements out of the corner of their eyes. Then it was footsteps upstairs while they were downstairs and doors opening and closing in the night--that's when a colleague of Mr. Forrest suggested they call Dr. Washington.

The majority of the activity the Forrests reported focused on the second level of the house, so they follow Mrs. Forrest up the stairs. There are four bedrooms and a bathroom off a hallway just this side of too narrow to comfortably fit a grown woman and four grad students, as gangly and slight as they may be. 

Alex's Mel meter starts jumping to life when he's barely crested the stairs. He's stuck behind John, who's taking a series of careful photos, his eyes far away. When John pauses to rub his temple and wince, Alex takes the opportunity to slip past him and join the others in the master bedroom. 

There's definitely some activity in the master bedroom and some in the bathroom, but it's the other three bedrooms that spark his interest. There are a handful of cold patches, and the energy in the room--though he's sure it's still residual--is climbing higher and higher up his meter. Lafayette mutters in approval as he makes a circuit of the guest room--they definitely have something worthy of further study.

Walkthrough over, the four of them reconvene with Mrs. Forrest and join Mr. Forrest and Dr. Washington in the living room.

"This definitely necessitates further study," Alex says, trying his best to sound calm and authoritative, to hide the giddiness threatening to bubble over. His first field case and it's _something_. It's more than just a frightened old woman's eyes playing tricks on her or a sullen teenager pranking his parents. There's something in this house--the equipment doesn't lie. There's something in this house and he, Alexander Hamilton, is going to be the person to uncover it and banish it.

Well, one of the people. But still.

"I assumed as much," Washington says. "These gentlemen are going to set up some equipment to run over night. We'll be back to pick it up and analyze the data tomorrow. As per the agreement you signed, please don't touch any of the materials--should anything break, you're liable for replacing it."

"Of course," Mrs. Forrest says. "We're thinking of staying with my mother anyway."

"I'm not gonna let a ghost drive me out of my house," Mr. Forrest says. 

Mrs. Forrest rolls her eyes. "Ignore him," she says. "Go ahead and set up whatever you need to." 

Alex doesn't wait around for further permission; he gives the Forrests what he hopes is a reassuring smile then turns on his heel and forces himself not to run back to the van to start gathering his equipment.

He leaves the ground floor alone, for the most part, and concentrates on the second level. In each room, he installs motion sensors, infrared cameras, and temperature recorders. He tries to set his things up so he can get every angle possible, frequently crossing paths with the others as they place their own equipment strategically. Once he's sure everything is in place, he opens the two associated laptops to double check that all of the equipment is recording as necessary. The recordings look good--the Mel meter is keeping a steady record of the temperature and EMF levels in the corner where it's set up, the motion sensors are showing the movement in the room, and he can see the last of his residual body temperature fading from the infrared readout. Everything has local storage and a battery back-up, of course--spirits love fucking with power sources and electricity when they get particularly tetchy--but the data is much easier to manage if it's filtered through the appropriate programs and applications on the laptops. 

He repeats the process in each of the upstairs bedrooms and places additional sensors in the hallway. By the time he's done, the entire second floor of the house should be sensitive enough to pick up a flea skittering across the floor. If anything happens--and from what the Forrests said, whatever is happening has been happening every night--it will most definitely be recorded.

Lafayette is downstairs packing up when Alex finishes. Burr and Washington are talking to the Forrests, and John is still in the upstairs hall, frowning a little and adjusting the cameras he's mounted there. The furrow between his eyebrows seems to signify something deeper than just concentration, and when he finally joins them in the foyer, he leans against Alex just a little, still frowning.

"Everything okay?" Alex asks quietly.

"I hope," John replies, his voice equally low. "We'll find out in a second."

Washington breaks away from the Forrests and Burr and nods at the three of them in the foyer before climbing the stairs. He studies all of the equipment closely, leaning over to inspect the various computers and then ducking into each of the rooms in turn. It takes all of about ten minutes before he returns to the first floor. He's not exactly smiling, but there's something like satisfaction in his eyes.

"Gentlemen," he says, "let's say our goodbyes."

They each shake both the Forrests' hands and promise to return before filing back out to huddle near the van and waiting for Washington's notes. They should probably start packing, but instead Lafayette and Burr are sitting on the back bumper of the van while John leans against the side and Alex paces. Washington is going to have _something_ to say to them. It should be good. He hopes it's good. There's no reason it shouldn't be good, but Alex can see his nerves reflected in the rest of the guys when Washington finally joins them in the driveway. Laf and Burr hop to their feet and the four of them stand hopefully in front of Washington.

"That's a remarkable set-up you have in there," he says, and Alex exhales. "Truly. If I didn't know better, I'd have assumed you've been doing this for years. My only issues were cosmetic--the wires could have been bunched neater, and you made some choices that are technically correct, but not what I would have done. But congratulations to all of you." 

Alex glances at his friends and sees a similar relief blossoming on all their faces. 

Washington continues, "Burr, good job managing the clients. You all worked with an efficiency and professionalism that live up to my very high standards. Laurens, I was particularly impressed with your camera placement in the two front rooms." John shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, glancing down at the ground, but Alex doesn't miss his pleased smile. "The technique you used to angle their paths is something I might need to employ in the future. Now--pack up the equipment cases, and I'll see you first thing tomorrow to discuss this evidence. Laurens and Hamilton, feel free to head straight home and take Gilbert with you."

"Alas," Lafayette says, "my car is at the university."

"Then let's get moving," Washington says. "I promised Martha I'd be home in time for us to watch Jeopardy before bed."

They pack up without speaking, closing cases and securing them into the back of the van. Alex's mind is moving a mile a minute, preening under Washington's praise, going over the surface-level evidence they've collected so far, making guesses about next steps and how they're going to have to break down the data in the morning. 

Soon enough, the van is packed, Washington, Burr, and Lafayette are buckled inside of it, and Alex and John are walking back over to John's car. Alex is still vibrating in place, adrenaline shooting through his veins, the thrill of discovery keeping his heartrate up. John, on the other hand, is rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. He pauses next to the car, not bothering to go around to the driver's side just yet. Instead, he frowns and squeezes his eyes shut, then shakes his head and blinks rapidly at Alex.

"I have this weird headache," he says. "Do you have a headache? I feel like it was the house. Is that a thing?"

"It's never been a thing for me before." Alex slows as he reaches the car, approaching John and gently resting his fingertips against John's temples. "Probably just a coincidence. Or stress. You were pretty anxious on the way over."

"Yeah," John's eyes slip closed again and he exhales. Alex feels him sway into the light pressure on his face. "You're probably right. Fuck, that feels good."

"I'm not even doing anything," Alex says.

"Your hands are cold," John says. "Here, just--" He reaches up and shifts Alex's hands slightly higher and closer together, and then nearly melts against him, sighing.

"This is getting weirdly sexual," Alex says, but he strokes the delicate skin of John's temples and holds his weight for the space of two breaths, five, ten....

"Can you drive?" John finally murmurs. 

"Uh...no," Alex says. Shit. Have they not actually had that conversation yet?

"Yeah, yeah, haha, I never let anyone drive my car, but I'm serious. My head is killing me."

"No, I mean--I can't drive. Like. I don't have a license." John opens his eyes and stares at Alex, confused. "I don't know how."

"You don't know how to drive?" John says slowly. Alex nods. "But how do you...." He bites his lip and gestures a little. "You know. Get places?"

"Well," Alex says, "I grew up on an island where most people didn't drive. Not cars, at least. I can kind of drive a motorcycle?" John huffs a noise that might be a laugh. "But I never learned or anything, not officially. A friend of my foster brother used to let us have a go. Then, from the island I moved to Manhattan, where even if I'd had enough money to buy a car, I wouldn't have had any need for it or place to put it. And then I moved here, where you're my personal chauffeur."

John smiles a little at that and straightens up. He winces for a moment as Alex's hands fall away from his temples, but at least some color has come back into his cheeks.

"I just assumed you didn't have a car here," John says. "I didn't know you don't know how to drive at all." 

Alex shrugs.

"I'm sure I'll learn eventually. Maybe."

"I mean...if you're planning on staying here a while, you'll probably need it," John says. "Public transit in the suburbs is basically a joke. Even the campus shuttle barely runs, and that only goes into downtown."

"Yeah, well," Alex says, "I've got you for a while at least."

"As long as you'll have me," John says, and then his cheeks bloom pink. "I mean--"

"It's fine," Alex says, before he can work himself back into a headache, "I don't plan on kicking you to the curb."

John smiles at him then, and maybe it's the remnants of pain around his eyes or the flush that's still sticking stubbornly to his cheeks or the way he so baldly found comfort in the lightest touch from Alex, but something about it seems raw and honest and _bare_ in a way that makes Alex shiver. He needs to get John home, to lock him away somewhere no one can hurt him because that smile is...vulnerable. It's vulnerable. And Alex won't be the one to betray it.

"Let's go home before you pass out, okay?" Alex nudges John towards the other side of the car. "I'll make you some tea or something when we get there."

John laughs out loud and then winces at the sudden jolt.

"God, you're fucking cute, you know that?" he says, and before Alex can protest, he turns around and gets into the driver's seat. Alex watches to make sure he's settled and then ducks into the passenger side. Should they wait a little longer to drive home? Should he maybe ask Burr to drive John home? But, no--John is too obsessed with his car to drive it if he thinks he might crash it. Right?

Alex remains tense the entire drive, right up until the moment John has parked outside of their building. He looks better now--he's not wincing and the last of the ashen pallor has left his skin.

"I think it was just the stress," he assures Alex after catching a worried look. "I feel a lot better now."

"Well, at least you'll know for next time that you don't have to be nervous because you're fucking awesome at this," Alex says. 

John grins, pleased, and exits the car, stretching and rubbing his forehead one more time before he fishes his bag out of the back. Alex watches him and pushes down the flare of jealousy that made itself known when Washington singled John out after their set-up. Sure, he had praise for all of them, and he knows that Washington isn't the type to give praise that lightly, but he'd seemed so impressed with John--

But it doesn't matter. John's his best friend--his boyfriend, even, as they've established--and he knows how nervous John was going into this. It's good for him to get that kind of praise from Washington. Alex knows he's great--John seems like he might need a reminder sometimes.

"Ready to go look at the photos?" John asks Alex, waving the bag at him tantalizingly. And, he should probably still insist that John take a hot shower and rest his eyes or something, but....

"Hell yeah!" Alex says, and leads the way into the building.

Upstairs, they set up on the kitchen table. John fetches his laptop, and in the time it takes Alex to put on another pot of coffee, the camera is hooked up, and the first image is waiting on the screen.

"Should we wait for Lafayette?" Alex asks, but he's already pulling a chair over to peer at the screen.

"There are enough that he won't miss much," John says. "The lab monitors are better, obviously, but we should be able to get a good enough read here." He clicks through the first few photos--tests with different settings in the lab, including the shots of Alex, then a few more tests outside the house and then--

"Whoa," Alex says. The first picture is--well, it's an excellent piece of evidence--there's a faint glow coming from the upstairs window. Frozen in time like this, it's clear that it's an outline of a figure. But beyond its use in the lab, it's also really...beautiful. Alex doesn't know very much about art, but the way it's framed and focused, the way the various spirit filters color the scene--Alex has seen his fair share of case photos, and they never look quite like this.

"Upstairs window, right?" John says. "I had a feeling that was going to be something."

"Not just that," Alex says. "I mean--that's awesome, good instincts, but the whole thing is...nice."

"Nice?" Alex doesn't have to look at John to know that he's making a face.

"I just mean...." He looks away from the screen, finally. John's mouth is quirked into a frown. "You said the other day that you took pictures and drew. And I can tell. This is like...art."

John rubs the side of his neck and looks away. He's blushing, his shoulders turning inwards in the tight, familiar curl of discomfort that makes itself known whenever Alex asks too many questions. 

"It's just site photos," John insists, eyes locked on the computer rather than Alexander's face. "Anyone who knows how to work a DSLR could have taken them. It's not hard."

Alex doesn't agree, but before he can push the point further, the front door opens and Lafayette returns, all but bounding into the room, smiling brightly and loaded down with bags.

"You started without me!" he chides, still smiling as he says it. 

"Not really," John says. "We're still on the first image. Come on."

Lafayette drags another chair over to the laptop, hovering behind John and Alex as John clicks through the photos. John took over a hundred, and save for the establishing shots, each of them has _something_ in it. Alex is impressed--he'd always been under the impression that people working as real IPs in the field take hundreds of pictures and use only a handful of them. Every single one of these looks like it could be useful. It was almost like John knew where he was supposed to be pointing the camera as opposed to blindly photographing everything and looking for what the camera couldn't see afterwards.

"These are astonishing!" Lafayette says once they're finished. "You have a gift, dear Laurens."

"Whatever," John says, hunching over the laptop and trying to look busy. "I bet the audio's just as good. We just all have different skills, is all."

As loath as Alex ever is to admit anything even slightly less than perfection, he has to disagree. He knows he did well in the field--he doesn't think anything he did was of the calibre of these pictures.

"We will have to wait until tomorrow morning to see that, alas," Lafayette says. "George took the recording equipment with him. Until then--" He opens one of the bags he brought in and pulls out two not inexpensive bottles of wine. "--we celebrate!"

"I'll get the glasses!" John says. Alex doesn't miss that he closes the laptop as he goes.

Two bottles of wine between the three of them go quickly enough as they sprawl across the living room furniture and flip through the evening's television offerings. Lafayette's phone rings somewhere around the last glass, and Alex can tell from the look on this face that it's the mysterious Adrienne. He leaps up to take it, murmuring quietly in French and heading back to his room with an absent wave towards them. Alex watches him go and then flops back on the couch, his head on John's thigh.

"So," he says. He blinks charmingly up at John. 

John grins and puts his glass on the coffee table before slumping down in the couch. "Wanna make out?"

It's tempting enough that Alex is momentarily derailed.

"No," he finally says. Kissing can go on the backburner for a moment. "I wanna talk about art." John sighs. "Your art, specifically," Alex adds, even though it's obvious John already knows where he's going with this.

"Alex," John says, with another sigh. 

"I just think you're devaluing yourself!" Alex insists. 

John rolls his eyes. "That's like, the most Alex thing you've said today, including when you went off on a tangent when we were in the house about the use of bells in historical parapsych work."

"It was interesting information!" Alex says. "And your self-worth is equally interesting."

"It has nothing to do with my self-worth, idiot," John says. "It's just a different part of me. A different part of my life. I discovered parapsych when I was about fourteen. Art is one of the ways I passed the time before that. I mean, I never would have pursued it professionally because of my dad, but even if I had been interested, parapsych happened to me, and I went down that road instead. It's just a hobby."

Alex is pretty sure that self-worth still factors in, but he pushes that aside.

"So?" he says. "Blogging is my hobby, and I tell you all about that."

"Blogging is one of your jobs, and you would tell everyone about it if you could," John says. "I'm surprised you've stayed anonymous this long, to be honest."

Alex pokes him hard in the side for that one.

"I just don't think you have to hide it, is what I'm saying," Alex says.

"I'm not hiding it! There's a difference between 'hiding' and 'private,' okay? I'm just--" He sighs again and shoves Alex off of his lap. "I guess I did tell you I'd show you some stuff."

"You don't have to," Alex insists, even as he sits up and leans forward eagerly.

"Yeah, that's real convincing." 

John gets up from the couch and heads towards their bedroom without saying anything else, so Alexander follows. He lingers in the doorway as John leans over to pull something out from under the bed, only ogling his ass for a moment, really. John retrieves a cardboard box, and Alex crosses the room to peek over his shoulder as he opens it. Inside are at least a dozen battered black notebooks similar to the one he carries with him everywhere--the sort with a faux-leather cover and an elastic band to hold it shut. Each is labeled in silver Sharpie with a series of dates.

"So these are all...?" Alex asks. He wants to grab one and flip through it, curiosity making his fingers twitch, but he holds himself back.

"Sketchbooks," John confirms. "From about my first year of boarding school to present. Ish." He studies them carefully, sifting through the books for a moment before he finally pulls out a newer book, labelled _March 2014 - August 2014_. He holds it in his hands and stares down at it, then hands it to Alex without looking at him.

For the first time, Alex hesitates.

"Hey, you know, you really don't have to," Alex says. He hopes his sincerity is clear this time. "You can tell me when I'm being a nosy shit."

"I do," John reminds him. He looks up at Alex, then, more embarrassed than upset. "I just don't want you to think I'm like...talented, I guess." And there are those self-worth issues springing forth. "I'm not particularly _good_ , you know? I'm not a professional. So any romantic notions you might have...." 

"I have zero romantic notions about you, Laurens," Alex lies. Or, well, it's probably more of a half-truth. Alex has several embarrassingly romantic notions about John, but they're less romantic in the visionary idealist way and more romantic in the way he feels when John goes soft and dopey after they've spent an hour making out on the couch.

"Fuck off and just look at the stupid thing if you're going to do it," John says, rolling his eyes. He flops down onto the bed and Alex follows, crawling up until he's leaning against the wall at the head of the bed, propped up by pillows. John studiously inspects the quilt with his back to Alex. 

He flicks off the elastic and opens the book. For a moment, he stares at the blank inside cover as he tries to decide where to start. In the middle? With the most recent drawings? With the earliest? In the end, his brain dithers too long for his hands, and he's turning to the first pages before he realizes what's happening.

The earliest drawings are all...the word he wants to use is "dark." They're done in black ink and are mostly landscapes and inanimate objects. There's a city skyline that he doesn't recognize but assumes must be Boston and a snowy city square. A few birds, a turtle, someone's goldfish bowl...they're all perfectly normal things, but there's a heaviness to all of the drawings, something about the thickness of the lines, the severity of the edges. He's not sure how to articulate it, so he just keeps going.

The drawings are _good_. They're maybe not destined to be hanging in a gallery with a thousand dollar price tag, but they're detailed and beautiful. They’re far better than anything Alex could do and probably far better than most people on the street could manage, too. Most of them are quick sketches, but some take up an entire page or spread out over two. There aren't many people, and most of the people within the pages are captured in delicate profiles.

There are some pages at the end of March that are more full of scribbled out drawings than actual sketches, but starting in early April, those fade away as the style seems to shift slightly. Everything is less dark, less sharp, less...whatever heavy thing seemed to be lingering over those other drawings. Now there are lots of drawings of a river with crew boats gliding across it, lots of studies of one particular tree. 

He pages through a little more quickly, pausing every once in a while to take in a full, measured view of something that catches his eye. There are a few in June of the same boy, east Asian with a layered undercut and a tattoo peeking over his shoulder. Alex definitely isn't a little jealous of the care taken with each of the sketches, and he _definitely_ isn't a little relieved that they disappear in July. July brings a familiar face--Lafayette appears occasionally, as well as Washington's dogs. The landscapes get more familiar too, with pictures of the quad and the front of the parapsych wing and the particular copse of trees visible from the patio at the Further Frog. The last drawing is Herc picking at the peeling label of a beer bottle, a quick sketch with a smudge of something that might be ketchup on the edge of the page.

Alex closes the sketchbook and looks up for the first time in--well, he's not sure how long. John has moved from nervously curled in the corner of the bed and is now tucked against Alex's side, legs hanging off of the bed, drumming his fingers on a sliver of bare stomach where his shirt has ridden up and reading on his phone. He looks up when Alex shifts and drops the sketchbook onto the bed.

"I feel like I should ask you what you thought, but that's a fairly terrifying prospect," John says. His cheeks are steadily darkening.

"No, no," Alex says. "I don't know what you're so nervous about, they're great. I mean, I don't know a lot about art, but...they're impressive even to someone who doesn't know a lot about art, you know?" 

John looks away, but he's smiling a little, pleased and gratified. "It's just a thing I do." He pushes himself up until he's leaning next to Alex, still at an angle with his legs dangling off the side of the bed. "It's not like--it's just a thing."

"Sure," Alex says, and John flips him off affectionately. 

"Anyway," John says. "Like I said, it's just...private. And I can show you stuff if you want, but please don't just go...looking through my shit unless I tell you that you can, okay?" He looks at Alex, long and serious, dead on. It's the steady look that does it--so often, John flinches away when things get serious or personal or deep. He blushes and stammers and changes the subject, so if this is something important enough to be firm about, Alex will stick to it. Of course he's curious--of course he's gonna ask all the time--but he won’t break this promise, either. If John doesn't want him looking at his shit, Alex can respect that.

"Yeah, of course," he says.

"Good," John says, and his posture relaxes. He melts back into the pillows, pressed up against Alex's side, and picks up his phone again. Alex watches him for a moment and then clears his throat.

"So, uh--" Alex scratches his temple, tries to relax his posture. "Who's uh...the guy?" 

"What?" John asks. Alex--super chill, super blasé--flips back to June, to the undercut and the tiny smile and the tattoo and John laughs. "Jesus, Hamilton, are you _jealous_?"

"No!" Alex protests. "I'm just...curious."

John takes the sketchbook from him and stares down at the portrait, smiling a little.

"His name's Lóng," John says. "I crashed with him after I graduated until my job down here started."

"He's cute," Alex says, totally chill, totally normal.

John rolls his eyes. "You're cute too, asshole. He was interesting to draw."

"Am I interesting to draw?" Alex asks as casually as he can manage, which isn't much. John looks like he's about to make another joke, but he hesitates.

"You're...difficult to draw," he finally says.

Well, that's useless.

"Does that mean you've drawn me or that you haven't?" he asks.

"I...mostly haven't. I can only really draw people from live models, and you never fucking sit still for long enough for me to do more than a sort of rough, shitty sketch." John reaches out and holds a strand of Alex's hair between his thumb and forefinger and then slowly tucks it behind his ear. His gaze drifts over Alex's face, calculating. It's the gaze of an artist, not his boyfriend. "I'd like to, but there's just something about you...I don't know if I can capture it. I don't know if I'm good enough. I don't know what it is."

John's fingers trail over Alex's cheekbones, his jaw, his chin, and a furrow forms between John's eyebrows as he examines each feature.

"That's...flattering," Alex finally says, and his boyfriend reappears, flushing and ducking his head.

"Shut up," John murmurs. "Are we done talking about this now? Can we be done talking about this?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Alex closes the sketchbook and replaces the elastic, then tosses it next to him on the bed. "Didn't you say something about making out before?"

"Did I?" John asks, his smile going sly, his eyes heavy-lidded and inviting. "Remind me."

"Smug shithead," Alex says fondly and hauls John up on top of him, sketchbook forgotten.

For the moment.

*

They reconvene in the lab the next morning, far earlier than they would on a normal Tuesday. Washington doesn't underestimate them this time--he arrives just moments after Burr, carrying a Dunkin Donuts box that he places on the table in front of them.

"Grab a few doughnuts for the road, and let's head back to the Forrests', shall we?" he says.

The evidence retrieval at the Forrests’ goes quickly enough that they have time to begin analyzing their findings before class. The video and audio and environmental readings all align with the prediction Alex made based on John's photos: it's a residual haunting in the early stages of development. The readings repeat in a predictable pattern and are consistent with the things that the Forrests reported--consistent enough to set your watch by. It's good in some ways; residual hauntings are easy to deal with and not usually dangerous. This one seems to be the ghosts of rambunctious children, and while that's rather sad, it's means the constant repetition isn't as gruesome or unsettling as some residual hauntings. It will be up to the Forrests whether they'd like the spirits expelled or whether they can learn to live with the nightly games the ghost children are playing in the empty bedroom.

It's not bad for a first case. It's not exciting, but the evidence is clear and ample, and the course of action is obvious. They couldn't ask for better exam preparation, and Alex has a feeling that's exactly why Washington chose it.

The rest of the day is far less exciting comparatively: classes, studying, work. Alex has office hours for the class he TAs, so he's stuck in the tiny, closet-sized office the four of them share off of the lab. He spends most of them arguing with John about early spiritualism with the "Please Knock" sign tacked to the door. He kind of wanted to spend them making out with John, but the argument took precedence. 

Once they're all done with their various academic obligations, they return to the main lab. Burr very carefully mixes the proper compounds according to the specific formulas they need to expel the spirits, and Laf prepares an exorcism kit just in case the expulsion goes wrong or their conclusion about the haunting being residual is incorrect. Residual hauntings are usually fairly easy to take care of--the right words, the right chemical compounds, the right ritual, and the spirit is forced right out of the thing it's haunting. A few chants and burned herbs and the space is easily cleansed to ward off its return. Not as easy as banishing a spirit, of course--what could be as easy as politely asking a spirit not to return?--but miles more simple than an exorcism. Exorcisms are nearly always dangerous and frequently hard to get right on the first try.

Alex is only a _little_ disappointed that he doesn't have the chance to perform one just yet.

Back at the Forrests' house, Burr takes the lead. He's their best chemist, as much as Alex hates to admit it, and he thinks they all probably learn a little something standing back and watching him trace the appropriate symbols on the ground in chalk and mix the appropriate compounds together. The smell of sulphur lingers in the air as Burr methodically recites a general expulsion incantation and lights his mixture on fire. There's a flash of light, a blip in the electricity in the room, a spike on the EMF reader Alex is holding, and a deep cold that settles over all of them. It's gone in a few seconds, leaving all of their equipment with calm, clear readings.

Their first successful field case. It's...kind of anticlimactic.

Back in the Forrests' driveway, after calling and telling them it's safe for them to return, Washington looks at Alex and John and Burr and Laf in turn, his expression inscrutable.

"You all did excellent work," he says, finally. "I'll see you tomorrow."

That's really kind of anticlimactic as well.

"I was expecting a little more fanfare," Alex admits as he buckles himself into John's car. 

John's rubbing his forehead, even as he sighs with relief. "Yeah," he says. "But it's over. We did it. Our first field case is closed. Successfully." 

He grins, just an infectious little twist of his mouth that Alex can't help but lean over and kiss firmly. John sighs against his lips, and Alex can feel the curve of his smile, can practically feel the tension pouring out of his body.

"We could celebrate," Alex suggests when he pulls away, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner with the intention of making John laugh. It works, though he winces a little immediately afterwards, and Alex frowns. "Are you okay?"

"Headache," John says. "Nerves. But not as bad as yesterday, so...progress, right?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "I guess." The frown lingers.

"Seriously. I'm fine," John says. He reaches across the center console and squeezes Alex's hand. "I'm excited. I'm--definitely ready to celebrate." It's his turn to waggle his eyebrows and Alex's turn to laugh. "Let's head home--Laf's gotta go all the way back to the school. If we leave now, we can get started without his lecture on noise pollution." He puts finger quotes around "noise pollution," which is really unfairly adorable.

"Okay, okay," Alex laughs. "Seriously, you don't have to twist my arm to convince me to have sex with you. I mean, really, all you have to say is 'Alex, let's have sex,' and I'll probably be down."

"Alex, let's have sex," John says, deadpan, and Alex is still laughing when John starts the car and directs them back towards their apartment.

* * *

True to his word, John's nerves seem to have evaporated by the next time they enter a house on a case. No more headaches, and there's a lot less awkward handwringing as they hit the books in an effort to pass the actual exam: the hundred and twenty multiple choice questions and three short answers that determine whether or not they're allowed to continue in their chosen field. The four of them start sticking around the lab for dinner on the nights they're not out in the field with Washington, trading notes and ideas and tips and passing around study guides along with the shitty campus pizza. They're dedicated enough to their studies that even spending the evenings with Burr doesn't seem too bad.

The strange thing is, the more comfortable John gets, the more anxious Alex gets. It's like his confidence has been bleeding out overnight, soaked up by John while they sleep. He's not necessarily unhappy with that--he likes John's swagger. It was upsetting to see him lose it, even temporarily, and it's not like Alex doesn't have confidence to spare.

Except, maybe he can't spare quite this much.

In the week leading up to the exam, he feels progressively edgier. He's starting to get nervous, starting to doubt his own knowledge. Things he's been writing about fluently since he was fourteen are suddenly muddy in his head. Was it Ames who theorized using white noise to energize spirits or was it Dummer? When were the official spirit designations updated? When did the Warren broadcast occur?

He wants to laugh at himself, paging through the Parapsych 101 book he uses with the class he TAs to double check basic information, but it's not funny. It's less and less funny the longer it continues, the panic sharper and lingering. As the week goes on, the panic doesn't go away when he confirms the answer but builds up, follows him around. Is he sure he knows? Is he sure he knows anything?

Is he sure he even deserves to be here? Is he sure he isn't a fraud? Is he sure they're not going to send him packing back to the island to spend the rest of his life clerking at Beekman and Cruger?

"You're sleeping, right?" John asks him one morning when he stumbles out of the bedroom to find Alex already sitting on the couch, rewriting his study guide for the fifth time.

"Yeah," Alex says dismissively. He managed somewhere between two and three hours of sleep last night--plenty, really, especially with the exam coming up tomorrow night.

"It's just," John continues, approaching the sofa, "you seem to be going a little overboard on your studying. You do recognize that you're like, a genius, right? I mean, I know you do because you used to remind us twice a day." He drops down next to Alex, leaning against his shoulder. "Fuck, you're freezing."

Alex hadn't realized he was chilly until John arrived, warm and soft from sleep, still waking up by inches. He leans into John but doesn't look up from his notes.

"Hadn't noticed," he says.

"You know that's...not really healthy, right?" John says. His arms come up and encircle Alex, and Alex can't help but shiver at the contrast of the heat against his cool skin.

"I was just distracted," Alex murmurs. He reaches for a highlighter and uses the break to glance over at John. It's a mistake, and he knows that immediately--one look and he's already distracted by John's pout and the sleepy, concerned look he's directing at Alex.

"You at least need to take a shower before we head in," John says. "Cause you haven't done that in a couple days, and as the guy who's regularly touching your dick, there's gonna be a moratorium on that real soon." 

Alex looks around the room at his piles of books and papers, at his empty coffee mugs, and then looks back to John, plaintive and a little sad.

"I'm sorry," he says. He twists around to kiss John, just an apologetic brush of lips. The shower thing has reminded Alex that he hasn't brushed his teeth since yesterday morning.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," John says, though he looks marginally less worried after hearing the apology. "I just sort of...." He looks away, and Alex watches his ears slowly turn red. "I sort of miss my boyfriend?"

It's really unfair and distracting how cute John can be.

"I get in my head sometimes," Alex admits. "Especially when I'm nervous or when something is important. After tomorrow, things will be better, I swear."

Except, shit, why did he say that? Is he jinxing himself by assuming he'll pass the test? Should he knock on wood? Or, no, maybe it's a truth either way because the next exam isn't until November, so in the two months leading up to it he'd probably still be a little better than he is today, so it's not technically a lie--

"Did you say something?" Alex asks, blinking at John. John rolls his eyes.

"I said, 'It's your life, I'm just worried,'" John says dryly. "Can't imagine why I'm fucking worried."

"Sorry," Alex says again, and twists the end of his hair around his fingers. Ugh. John is right--he really does need a shower.

"Make it up to me by taking a shower and buying me breakfast on campus and actually sitting with me and having a conversation while we eat it," John says. "You've even been bringing your books to the bar. The other guys are worried too, you know."

No, Alex didn't know. 

"Having people worried about me is a fairly new experience," he admits.

"Well, we are," John says, with something like exasperation. "Come on, take a shower."

Alex hesitates for a moment longer, with one last glance at his copious notes.

"Take a shower with me," John amends. "We'll save time and get you to campus and through breakfast and back to studying even faster. Jesus fuck, I can't believe I'm actually using studying as a bribe to get you to have sex with me, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You've known me for over a month, asshole," Alex says, elbowing John. "You know I'm a nerd."

"Yeah," John admits, elbowing back, "and I can't pretend it wasn't one of the things that made you hot in the first place."

"See? You're just as much of a nerd," Alex says.

"I'm not arguing that," John says. "But my dick is still feeling pretty neglected."

Alex raises his eyebrows. "Well. I suppose we can't have that."

John is smiling smugly when Alex leans in to kiss him, eyes heavy-lidded with expectation, and even just the feeling of John's hands curling around his waist is enough to ease some of the tension out of his back as they kiss once, twice, then--

"Okay," John says, pulling back with an aborted laugh, "you need to brush your fucking teeth, you're gross."

"I can brush my teeth in the shower," Alex says, even though he can feel embarrassment heating up his cheeks as he says it. He pushes himself to his feet--and, ow, okay, maybe he's been hunched over on the couch for too long if his muscles are protesting the movement that much--and pulls John up after him. 

"That sounds like a good plan," John says, and the way he smiles alone is worth a study break.

The shower is a nice break--it feels good to get clean, it feels good to be fully present, his mind mostly off his studies and focused on John instead. Shower sex is never the most graceful thing in the world, but it's been a few days since they last had sex and apparently his body has gotten so used to regular orgasms that a few days is enough to make him pretty desperate. The first brush of John's hands against his chest under the wet, hot spray of the shower, skin slickly sliding together, is enough to make him forget about studying entirely. John's fingers massaging shampoo into his hair, John's chest draped across his back as they twist together to fit under the spray, the press of John's hips against his own, moving eagerly and aided by soap and water and Alex's hands urging him forward....

He feels good, afterwards. Loose, happy, warm--his mind feels clearer than it has in days. He thanks John by carefully combing his wet hair back into a ponytail and murmuring his gratitude into John's ear. It's not often that Alex will admit he's wrong--probably because he's not often wrong in the first place--so he hopes John appreciates the concession.

Later, he buys John breakfast on campus like he promised he would and even leaves his books on his desk to talk to Laf and Burr about something weird Washington said in their seminar earlier in the week. All of those things, shower sex included, only go so far to ward off his text anxiety, however. He goes to class and grades papers and has lunch and tries to act normal, even though he's itching to start studying again. There's so much he needs to review--there's so much he's probably forgetting even as he eats half of the sandwich John buys from the cafe and steals chips from Lafayette's plate and tries to follow their conversation about some book they've both read.

He should be studying. He really should be studying. Imagine the shame in going back to the island and admitting he couldn't cut it because he was too busy fucking around with his friends to focus--he can't let that happen.

He brings his books to the bar for the fifth night in a row, obsessively highlighting and rereading important passages in the articles he printed off JSTOR. They don't normally go too deep into historical parapsych on the exam, but maybe Alex should study some old spiritualism primers anyway. It couldn't hurt--there's always a chance it will come up.

"Alexander," John says, sighing and sliding a vodka tonic across the table towards him. "Have a drink. Close your books. Take a fucking break and come outside and enjoy the night with me."

"I took a break for you this morning," Alex reminds him. He sticks a post-it flag next to a particularly noteworthy passage in his exam prep book. He has it mostly memorized, but it's good to cover all his bases.

"Breaks aren't one time deals, idiot," John says. "It's a thing you've gotta do repeatedly to rest your mind. Stepping away will help, I swear. You'll come back to your shit with a new perspective, with some distance." John pouts at him, tugging on his ponytail until he looks up to see it. "Please, baby?"

 _I miss my boyfriend_ , John had said this morning, an admission that embarrassed him, an admission from _John_ , who Alex is learning would rather stab himself in the eye than talk about his feelings.

"Fine," Alex mutters. He closes his notes, prep book, and study guide, then takes a long pull from the drink in front of him. It might be too long--has he eaten since lunch? He can't quite remember, and the vodka goes down a little too smoothly--Laf and his deep pockets must be picking up the tab.

"It'll help, I promise," John says, already pulling him away from the table, barely leaving him time to grab his bag. "Come on."

Outside, Laf and Herc are perched on a picnic table, sharing a cigarette. They exchange an unreadable look when Alex flops down on the bench next to them. John sits at his side, much closer than he needs to be sitting. He hands Alex his drink again as soon as he sits down.

"Laurens, are you trying to get me drunk?" he asks, even as he takes another sip.

"I'm trying to get you to relax," John says, "even if I have to pull out every weapon in my arsenal." He punctuates that by putting his hand on Alex's knee under the table and slowly sliding it up until Alex's breath catches.

"Keep it PG-13 at the table, kids," Herc says, tipping his beer bottle towards them in warning. "If you're gonna jerk each other off, have the fucking decency to do it in the bathroom like everyone else."

"I'm slightly classier than that, thank you very fucking much," John says, even as he squeezes Alex's thigh again. "If I'm gonna jerk someone off in a bathroom, it's gonna be my own, and I already did that once today."

Lafayette pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I did not need to know that," he says, and then takes a long swallow of his beer.

"Relax," John says. "It was in the shower."

"How does that make it better?!" Laf asks.

"Are you saying you don't jerk off in the shower?"

Herc leans over to wave a hand between John and Lafayette before the conversation can go any further. "I don't fucking need to know the details of when and where either of you jerk off."

"Last week you went into exacting detail about the threesome you had with those two girls," Alex points out, only to have Herc point at him with his beer bottle again.

"No one asked you, Ham."

John laughs, though, and buries his face in Alex's shoulder to try and hide it. His breath tickles the hairs on the back of Alex's neck, and Alex takes another drink to try and settle the sudden flurry of interest in his gut. It's ridiculous--it's been a month. He shouldn't still feel like this, nervous and giddy like he has his first crush. He had John's dick in his hand less than twelve hours ago, and now he's what? Flustered? Shy? It's stupid. He should be thinking about the exam, not the warmth of John's skin through his thin t-shirt.

"Imma get a round of good luck shots," Herc says, pushing himself up from the table. "And tomorrow, I'm gonna get everyone a round of celebratory shots."

"Don't jinx it!" Alex can't stop himself from saying. Herc just rolls his eyes.

"I'm gonna get you two," he says, pointing at Alex and then turning back to head inside. 

John nudges Alex's glass back towards him. "Babe, you need to chill," he says.

"You keep saying that!" Alex takes another swig of his drink. "It's not like a switch I can flick on and off!"

"I'll show you a switch I can flick on and off," John says. On Alex's other side, Lafayette groans and drops his head to the table.

"What does that even mean?" Alex asks, shaking his head incredulously.

"It's a line." John shrugs "It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Words mean things!" Alex insists. "You can't just like, say something in a sexy tone of voice and expect it to be innuendo."

"Aw, you think my tone of voice is sexy?" John says. "You're sweet." Alex elbows him.

"Both of you are impossible," Lafayette says. "Can we please talk about something other than your dicks or discourse about the tone of voice you use to discuss your dicks?"

"Sorry, sorry," John says, not looking very sorry at all. He looks even less sorry when he climbs over Alex's lap to sit on his other side, next to Laf, with a lot more groping than is probably necessary. "Not talking about our dicks, not talking about work, not talking about the exam."

"We could talk about non-exam work things?" Alex suggests. John and Laf ignore him.

"Good," Lafayette says. "That is all I ask. One last night to relax and prepare myself without being surrounded by statistics and diagrams and Hamilton's incessant muttering while he works."

"How about some gossip?" John asks. "Dolley was telling me yesterday that she heard from Molly Ludwig that von Steuben's been making eyes at Ben Walker."

Herc returns with their shots, sitting down in time to add, "Von Steuben makes eyes at hot blonde dudes every year." He slides one shot to Lafayette, one to John, and two to Alex, as promised. John slides his back to Herc.

"Driving," he says. "But thanks." Herc shrugs and throws it back himself instead. "And, anyway, the gossip isn't that von Steuben's making eyes, it's that Molly says Walker's making eyes back."

"Doesn't von Steuben already have two like, live-in twinks?" Alex asks Herc. "I mean, I just assume those two guys who are always following him around are fucking him."

"Ponce and Ponter," Herc says, nodding. "They're fourth year parapsych. Definitely fucking him."

"Scandalous," John says with a wicked grin.

"Washington brought von Steuben on like...seven years ago, I guess? Right before I joined up. It was on Ben Franklin's recommendation," Herc says. "I don't know what drove him out of Germany, but Franklin had him as an adjunct out in Philly and couldn't afford to keep him, so he sent him here. Long as I've been here, there's been at least one student fucking him. But, you know, they're all adults, and he's a fucking genius, so."

"Weird as hell though, right?" John says. "At least, that's what I've heard."

"Oh, shit, you don't know the half of it," Herc says. "This is just a rumor, but let me fucking tell you about what happened at the New England Association of Parapsychology conference last year."

Herc spins them a nearly impossible to believe story about an off-site cocktail party at the conference last year, free drinks, a residual haunting, and male strippers. One thing Alex has learned over the past few weeks is that Herc is great at telling stories, though he's never sure how much of them he should believe.

When Herc's finished, he heads back inside towards the bar, claiming storytelling makes him thirsty. Lafayette tags along to refill his own drink, but John begs off, citing his imminent drive home, and Alex has just about reached his limit for a Thursday night. Soon enough the far corner of the patio is just Alex, John, and a kid leaning against the side of the building twenty feet away, having a hushed conversation on her cellphone. Alex stretches and shifts around so he's sitting backwards on the bench and leaning his back against the table. It makes it easier to see John, who's straddling the bench, his hair and skin glowing golden in the dim lights on the patio.

"There's no way von Steuben fucked _all_ of those strippers," John says. "For one thing, how likely is it that they were all queer? Von Steuben's not exactly George Clooney, you know?"

"I guess we'll never really know," Alex says absently, glancing over at his bag on the ground next to the table. His test prep book is just peeking out the top, and he's probably relaxed plenty at this point--

John's hand slides along his cheek and turns his head back around.

"No," John says firmly. His face is only an inch or two away from Alex's, his palm warm where it's pressed to Alex's jaw. 

"I'm relaxed," Alex promises.

"Are you, though?" John asks. And then his other hand slides up Alex's thigh again. "I think you could be more relaxed."

"You really were trying to get me drunk, huh?" Alex tries to clear his throat to get rid of his sudden hoarseness, but it's no use with John's fingers tapping against the inside of his thigh.

"I'm pretty sure I don't need to get you drunk to make you want me," John murmurs. His breath is warm against Alex's face and it nearly makes him shiver.

"Well, obviously not." Alex tries to keep his voice even and casual, despite his heart beating hard and fast against his ribcage. "Considering I want you basically all the time--"

John squeezes his thigh once, hard, sudden enough to catch Alex off guard, freeze his words in his throat, and make his dick throb. He stands up and just as suddenly straddles Alex's lap, trapping Alex between him and the table.

"All the time, huh?" John says. Alex wants to say something pithy in reply, but he can't concentrate. John's eyes are beautiful from this angle, golden in the light, his pupils huge, and his mouth--

He manages a weak nod. He's staring at John's lips, and he knows it.

"I'm supposed to be studying," he says, but even he can tell from his tone that it's a surrender. 

John just smiles slowly and brushes Alex's hair back with both hands. "You can study later."

"You keep saying that, but--"

John quiets him with a kiss. It's not unexpected, though it’s an almost chaste press of lips. He pulls back afterwards, looks at Alex again, raises his eyebrows, and then leans in a second time. Alex meets him halfway.

This kiss is less chaste. 

He lets the table take his weight, lets John settle fully against his chest. It means John's hips are pressed tight against his own. It means John's dick is making itself known right up against Alex, right where he can feel it. He does shiver this time, which makes John laugh. He slides his hands up under Alex's shirt, which doesn't help with the shivering; his hands are cold, and the way he drags his nails against Alex's back....

"Do you want to go home?" John whispers against his ear. 

Alex kinda wants to duck around the back of the building and suck John off right here, but that's probably not advisable.

"What do you think?" he says instead, and John laughs, a short, hot burst of air against the side of Alex's face.

"Shithead," John says affectionately, then climbs off of Alex's lap. 

Alex only spends a moment mourning the warmth before he pushes himself up and back into John's personal space. Their noses almost brush and Alex's stomach drops again, even though John was just on his fucking lap, even though they were just making out. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with him? Isn't this supposed to be how you feel about someone you're flirting with, not the dude you're fucking every day?

John looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes and reaches forward to slip two of his fingers into each of Alex's front pockets.

"Let's go," he says, his voice rougher than it was a moment again. Heat is radiating off of him, and Alex's mouth has gone dry.

"Yeah," Alex manages to say, closing his eyes as John slowly drags him closer and leans in.

"Alex," he says. Alex makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement. "Race you."

Alex opens his eyes and stares blankly at John, his brain short-circuiting, but John is already gone, pulled away and hopping over the patio railing towards the parking lot.

"Fuckhead!" he shouts after him, but John just laughs and waves, leaving Alex to haphazardly gather his books and his bag and take off after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have sex on screen in the next bit, I promise.


	5. Chapter Four: Fornication, Examination, Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distraction is provided, an exam is taken, a nemesis is discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much continued thanks to everyone for reading this. Every comment seriously makes my day ♥
> 
> Special thanks to **firstbreaths** , **littledust** , **caphairdadbeard** , and **coffeesuperhero** in this part for hounding me about a thing that really needed to be changed and not being put off by how petulant I was about it.

Alex and John are still laughing when they get home, giggling over some stupid joke like they're little kids, careening into the apartment as if they're drunk, even though Alex is barely tipsy and John stopped drinking hours ago. Alex puts his books on the coffee table and his bag on the sofa, still shaking his head.

"Go take your contacts out," John tells him, kissing the corner of his mouth and then turning towards the bedroom.

"Then what?" Alex asks. 

In response, John pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it over his shoulder. His belt follows a moment later before he toes his shoes off and disappears into the bedroom.

"Laf's gonna kill us," Alex murmurs, grinning, and hurries to the bathroom to take his contacts out, brush his teeth, and rush through the rest of his pre-bed routine. 

He picks up John's discarded clothing on his way back to the bedroom--Laf really will kill them if they just leave their shit there--and when he gets there, John is sitting cross legged on the bed wearing only his boxers.

"Did you get distracted before you could finish?" Alex asks. 

"I thought you might want to unwrap the rest of the gift yourself," John says, waggling his eyebrows, and Alex laughs again. 

"You've got terrible lines, Laurens," he says. He kicks off his sneakers and tosses John's clothes on the ground and gets up on the bed, crawling over to where John is sitting. John doesn't move, but he smiles when Alex reaches for him and curls one hand around John's hip, tangling the other in his hair.

"If they were really that bad, they wouldn't work," he says. Alex rolls his eyes and then kisses him before he can say anything further.

Kissing John will probably eventually get old, or at least less exciting, but that day hasn't come yet. Right now, John's hands and mouth still light him up, still raise his temperature with the lightest of touches. He runs his hand up John's side, along his ribs, and pulls him closer, kisses him harder, licks into his mouth and tastes the lingering remnants of the beer John had earlier. He pulls away when John's hands slide under his shirt, urging it upwards, and allows John to finish pulling it off.

"What do you want?" he asks, rolling onto his side and pulling John with him so they're facing each other.

"I'm gonna fuck you, I think," John says. "If that's cool?"

Alex goes hot all over, his skin suddenly flushed, his nerves alive with anticipation.

"Yeah," he chokes out. "Yeah that, uh--that sounds pretty great."

John grins at him, and for just a moment it's not his usual bedroom eyes and seductive smile, but something carefree and giddy that shows all his teeth and makes him look younger, or maybe happier. Something in Alex's chest squeezes, like his heart is twisting and knotting, and he smiles helplessly back until John tugs him forward and kisses him again.

John clearly has a plan and a destination, so Alex lets him drive, as it were. He lets John lead their kisses, run his tongue along Alex's teeth and push into his mouth. He lets John push his body around, spread his thighs and climb between them. He lets John's hands run up his back and down his side and across his chest, broad and warm.

"Fuck," he whispers hoarsely when John's mouth finally pulls away from his with one final bite at his lower lip. It's sharp enough on the sensitive skin that his cock twitches where it's still pressed up against the front of his jeans. 

John's moved on to kissing his throat, his jaw, the soft skin behind his ear, hitting all the places that make Alex squirm and running his short, blunt fingernails over Alex's shoulders and ribs at the same time. Goosebumps erupt all over Alex, from the back of his neck all the way down his legs. He shivers and shudders and gasps out half-formed words as John bites his throat and sucks at the thin skin stretched over his collarbone. 

John has Alex's hips well pinned, pressed to the bed by his own weight, but that doesn't stop Alex from twisting them restlessly. He wants friction, any sort of relief, anything to indulge his desire for John to touch him all over, all at once. Even through his jeans, Alex can feel how hot John's skin is, can feel the hard line of his dick where it's rubbing against him. He wants to be seductive and coordinated and reach down to jerk John off or something, but he can barely keep track of his hands, let alone make them do something suave and sexy. He has one fisted lightly in John's hair, just tight enough that every time John pulls against it, he groans, and the other fisted in the sheets to keep himself from scratching the shit out of John's back with his stubby nails.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Alex says, and John laughs against his sternum.

"Is that all you can say for yourself?" he asks, lifting his head, and before Alex can summon the faculties to answer, he grins mischievously and lowers his head to bite one of Alex's nipples.

" _Fuck!_ " Alex says again, and John sucks harder in response. Alex presses his fingernails into John's scalp accidentally, then does it again on purpose when John moans helplessly against his chest, the vibrations making Alex a little dizzy.

John pulls away, breathing hard, eyes glassy, mouth red and plush. Alex can't do anything but stare at him for a moment, struck once again by this lingering crush, this almost embarrassing affection. John uses that moment to fumble with the fly of Alex's jeans and then shift the both of them around until he can pull them off and toss them off the side of the bed along with Alex's boxers. He stares at Alex hungrily once he's done and Alex's heart stutters in his chest.

"Get the--" John says to him, motioning vaguely towards the floor next to the bed where there's a box of condoms and a bottle of lube buried somewhere under discarded clothes and papers. 

Alex has to fish around for a second to find them, distracted as he is by John's hands running up and down his calves. That shouldn't be sexy--they’re his _calves_ \--but it steals his breath away anyway, and his hands shake when he finally retrieves the supplies and pushes himself back into a sitting position. John is still sitting between his legs, so they're suddenly close again, breathing the same air, John on his knees and Alex's legs curved around him.

"Hey," John says with a half smile. He rests his hands on Alex's hips, his thumbs stroking slowly back and forth.

"Hi," Alex says. He puts the lube and condoms on the bed next to them and loosely loops his arms around John's neck. "Where do you want me? On my front? On my back? Like, suspended from the ceiling with one of those harness things?"

John laughs. "Forget the harness, how about one of those, like, fucking hanging ribbon things that acrobats use in the circus?"

"I definitely have the upper body strength for that," Alex assures him. "Might take a few minutes to set up, though."

"Oh, well, fuck that, then," John says. "I'm pretty impatient."

"I didn't know that about you."

John pinches his hip for that. "Lie down on your back. I like your dumb face. Might as well look at it."

"You're really sweeping me off my feet, here."

"Shut up," John laughs. He shoves Alex's shoulder, and Alex uses the momentum to let himself fall back onto the mattress. He shifts around until he's comfortable, wiggling a pillow under his hips, removing his glasses and dropping them next to the bed. It's all really awkward and unsexy, but John fumbling out of his boxers is equally awkward and, that aside, it's kind of nice to be able to be awkward and unsexy with someone in bed and not worry about them judging him for it.

John repositions himself between Alex's legs once they're settled and grins down at him. "This is a nice view."

"Weren't you gonna fuck me at some point?" Alex asks. 

John pinches him again, running his hands down Alex's thighs to his knees, then back up over his hips to his ribs. He leans over for another kiss, propping himself up on one hand and using the other to pet and press at Alex's chest and rub against his belly until Alex's breath is coming short and fast, his hips twitching as he tries to get John's fingers to slide over just a little bit farther and touch his cock.

John pulls his mouth away and presses a kiss to Alex's cheek. "Did you want something?"

"You're a shithead," Alex gasps, flexing his hips again and whining when John stops rubbing his stomach and holds them down against the mattress instead.

"Patience," John murmurs.

"Oh, fuck you," Alex says, and wraps his legs around John's waist as best he can from where he's pinned to the bed.

"Jesus, Alex, are you really just gonna give me all of that fodder for a pun?" John says. "That's almost irresponsibly short-sighted."

Alex grunts and arches his back, and it's enough to press his groin up and against John's--then it's John who's hissing and whining and cursing as he tries to stop himself from thrusting back mindlessly.

"Asshole," John pants, and then they're kissing again, hot, wet, drawn out. Alex can barely catch his breath. His skin burns everywhere it presses against John's. He can't believe he wanted to skip this to _study_.

John makes his way down Alex's torso, kissing and biting and scratching and making another half-dozen shitty comments. Alex will never forget the first time they ever had sex, the way they managed to keep a steady conversation going, banter and questions and insults and stories, almost to the point of coming. Afterwards, Alex tried to thank John for not telling him he talked too much during sex. It was half a joke, and the joke almost covered up the very real sting of the first time he ever heard those words in bed. To his immense surprise and relief, John's eyes had gone wide. _That's happened to you too?_ he said, and Alex legitimately wondered, for a moment, if he hadn't found his soulmate.

Now, John warms up the lube between his fingers, absently sucking Alex's cock, which might shut John up, but has had the opposite effect on Alex, who can't stop swearing or muttering vaguely embarrassing platitudes and pet names. Soon enough, one of John's fingers is breaching him, pumping in and out, twisting around, making room for a second and then a third. John finally pulls off Alex's cock once he's got three fingers inside of him, and Alex can't even complain because he's curling those fingers towards Alex's stomach, reacquainting Alex with his prostate.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Alex hisses through his teeth. He has to struggle not to thrust upwards or wrap his legs around John's shoulders. 

"We're getting there, yeah," John says, and Alex's grip on the sheets is too tight for him to flip John off, but he hopes his expression makes the gesture clear anyway. "Yeah, yeah, okay," John says. He pulls his fingers out, which is awful for the thirty seconds it takes him to tear open a condom, roll it on, wipe the excess lube off on it, and lift Alex's hips enough to slowly, _slowly_ press inside.

"I'm not geriatric, you can go faster," Alex tries to say, but the high, reedy tone of his voice probably gives away how good that slow, smooth stretch feels.

"Ssssh, your ass and I are having a moment," John says. He is, to Alex's great satisfaction, straining for a normal tone just as much.

They exhale almost in unison when John's gone as far as he can go, and then John pulls out and thrusts in again, and Alex can't help but groan.

"Okay," John says. "Okay, okay, let's--" His breath stutters in his chest as Alex shifts beneath him. This is only the second time John's fucked him, and the last time it had been from behind and before John it had been--jesus, a few months. Maybe more like a year. He'd forgotten how intense it is, seeing someone's face, watching while they press inside of you. 

It's a really fucking good look on John.

"Can I--" John starts to ask, and lifts Alex's leg.

Alex nods quickly, until he's trying to lift it further than human legs should really lift. "Stop stop stop, I don't bend that way!" he yelps. 

John drops him immediately and moves to pull out, maybe scramble away, but Alex squashes that quickly by wrapping his legs around John's waist. "No, you shithead, don't stop-stop, I just meant I can't lift my leg that high," he pants. 

The panic that had rushed across John's face dissipates, and he sags forward. "Sorry, sorry," he says. "Sorry, let's just--" He pulls Alex's legs tighter around his waist and lifts his hips a little more and then experimentally pulls out and pushes back in. They both groan at the slide, and the new angle even manages to brush his prostate enough to send a jolt of electricity radiating outward to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"That's good, that's really--good," Alex babbles. "That's--keep with--that."

"Got it," John grunts, and he leans forward on one arm and really starts to fucking go for it. 

"Good, good," Alex murmurs. "So much better. No one's legs bend like that--" He pauses and thinks about the possible reasons John might think they could. "Wait, can your legs--fuck!--can your legs bend like that?"

"Yeah," John pants. "Us--usually. Jesus." He doesn't stop fucking Alex, which is maybe one of the reasons he likes John so much.

"Then why haven't we tested that out?" Alex asks breathlessly. "Fuck, if I'd've known you were that--" John's hand curls around his cock and he starts jerking Alex off in time to his thrusts. "God, flexible, shit, keep--"

"I'll add it to the list--" John says through his teeth, punctuating it with a sharp thrust. "--but right now--" And another. "--I don't know if you've--" And another. "--noticed, but--" And another. "--I'm a little--" And another. "--busy!"

Alex lets go of the sheets and curls one hand around John's shoulder, pulling him closer and slips the other into his hair to urge him down for a quick, messy kiss.

"Yes, yes, yes, keep--shit!" he hisses. He yanks John's hair--he doesn't mean to, his hand just fists automatically as John makes a particularly well-aimed thrust. But he yanks and before he can apologize, John makes maybe the sexiest, most desperate noise that Alex has ever heard.

"Alex, fuck, Alex--" he gasps. 

Alex pulls again, and the sound John makes is torn out of him, high and needy and rough, his head tipped back to bare his neck, his hips slamming forward even harder than before, his hand convulsively squeezing Alex's dick with just enough force that he feels the air sucked out of his lungs.

"Jesus!" he manages to say, barely keeping himself from coming right then. He pulls John down for another kiss using the hand in his hair for leverage and swallows the moan that stutters out of John's mouth. He knew John liked having his hair pulled when he was giving a blowjob, but this level of responsiveness is new information--otherwise he definitely would have been making use of it before now. He files it away in the back of his mind to examine when John isn't jerking him off and fucking him with abandon and generally doing his best to fry every last circuit in Alex's brain.

They kiss sloppily, their mouths poorly aimed and poorly controlled, more panting and biting against each other's mouths than anything else, but it's still so fucking good that Alex can't catch his breath. John's hand on his dick, John fucking him fast and deep, it's overwhelming, it's everything, it's the only thing he can feel or hear or see or think.

"John, I--" he tries to say, the words swallowed up by a gasp on a particularly sharp turn of John's wrist.

"I'm not--stopping you," John manages to say between the rough, desperate sounds he's making. 

Alex scrabbles at John's back with his free hand, tugs the one tangled in his hair, and John fucking _keens_ against his neck and that's it, Alex is done, his brain and body so overloaded that he can’t do anything but gasp for breath and come.

He drifts a bit, struggling to get his wits back about him enough to help John finish, but there's no need--before he can recover the muscle control to move, John goes stiff in his arms, his fingernails digging hard into Alex's hip. He makes a breathless, choked sound and then his arm buckles, and he falls on Alex's chest with a thump.

"Ow," Alex mutters, more out of surprise than real pain.

"Sorry," John murmurs, but it's still the space of four or five breaths before he moves, rolling off of Alex onto the bed next to him. "Ow, ow, ow, hair, hair, hair!" he squeaks, and it takes Alex a moment to realize his hand is still tangled in John's hair. "Not good anymore, ow!"

"Sorry!" Alex says and carefully tries to free himself from the fluffy mass of curls that the exertion has turned John's hair into. He wiggles free with a minimum amount of wincing on John's part and then relaxes back onto the bed so they're sprawled shoulder-to-shoulder, still breathing hard.

"I didn't know you had a hair thing," Alex finally manages to say between breaths.

"Me neither," John admits. "I mean, a little, usually, when I'm going down on guys, but that's the first time someone has really, you know, gone for it while I was fucking them." He gingerly raises a hand to pat at his own head and grins. "Cool. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Alex wheezes. "Anything in the name of science."

"Might need to repeat the experiment a few times," John says with a smirk. "I'm not sure we have enough data to draw a solid conclusion." 

"I could be persuaded to assist further," Alex says. He can't help but notice John's gotten his second wind much more quickly despite finishing second. "How are you not out of breath?"

"That's why I go to the gym," John says.

"You go to the gym to build up sex endurance?"

"Well, no," John admits, "I go to the gym to work out my aggression so I don't beat the shit out of fuckheads at the bar, but sex endurance is a nice side effect."

Alex smacks him, or tries to. His hand just sort of weakly bounces against John's bicep, another nice side effect of going to the gym. 

John laughs and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers and then tugging it over so he can press a kiss to each individually. "I like you, Hamilton," John murmurs against his palm. Alex can feel the smile pressed there before he kisses it and then lets Alex go again.

"All the sex would be weird if you didn't," Alex says, and it's John's turn to smack him.

Alex stretches a little, his heart rate finally dropping, and winces as he realizes there's a delightful mixture of come and lube and sweat already drying on his skin. Also, as the bliss wears off, the need to study makes itself known again. 

Right. Shit. They have an exam tomorrow. He sits up and groans.

"Are you going to the bathroom?" John asks. Alex nods. "Then take this." He pulls off the condom and ties it off and presents it to Alex with a hopeful grin.

"Ugh, this is gross," he mutters.

"Don't look at me!" John says. "I only contributed half the grossness!"

Alex rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. In the bathroom, he tosses the condom, then fetches a washcloth and runs it under warm water before cleaning himself off. 

When he gets back into the bedroom, John is still lounging in the middle of the bed, self-satisfied and drunk on the rush of endorphins and the exhaustion tugging at him. Alex sits on the edge of the bed and wipes up the mess on John's stomach and dick, then throws the washcloth towards their hamper and gets up again. He finds his boxers on the floor amidst their discarded clothing and pulls them back on. 

On the bed, John frowns at him sleepily, then pushes himself up. "Where are you going now?"

"Gotta go back to studying," Alex says. He can't find his t-shirt, but John's will do, with the added benefit of smelling like his shampoo.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" John says.

"Nope."

The bedsprings creak as John sighs theatrically behind him.

"You're ruining my afterglow," John tells him. 

Alex turns around and goes back to the bed, leaning over to kiss John quickly and chastely. "I'll be back soon. I just want to check a few things."

"Whatever," John mutters. "Don't be too long--test prep 101: you need to get a good night's sleep if we're gonna take this thing tomorrow."

"I know," Alex says. "I'll be right back, I swear."

"Yeah, yeah," John says, waving him away.

Back in the living room, Alex surveys his pile of materials. He really should get a good night's sleep, so it's best to organize his studying. If he just takes a quick look through his notes, re-copies his study guide into French, and then reads through the answer key for the sample tests in his test prep book, he should be in bed in an hour, two at most, which will give him plenty of time to get his recommended allotment of pre-test sleep. He sits on the couch, stacks his books in the order he wants to tackle them, and gets to work.

He loses track of time after that--loses track of everything except working. He needs to know this cold; he needs to have every single fact and figure at his disposal. He goes over and over his study book, over and over his notes. He reads John's notes, he reads Lafayette's notes in French because if he knows it in both languages, he'll be okay if he freezes up in one or the other. The facts are whirling around in his head, and he can feel his heart hammering, but it's a distant pounding.

He's dizzy when he finally looks up from his computer, and he doesn't realize _why_ he's looked up until John says, "Alexander!" for, presumably, not the first time.

Alex twists around. "What?"

John is standing in the doorway between the living room and the hall to the bedrooms. He looks half asleep, his t-shirt and sweats twisted at odd angles around his body as if he's just rolled out of bed. His eyes are barely open and his hair is a mess, but his concerned look still manages to cut through the exhaustion.

"You need to come to bed," John says. He crosses his arms, but it seems more like he's hugging himself than trying to look authoritative. 

Alex looks away to check the time on his laptop. "What the fuck are you doing up? You need to be at the library in like, two hours." Hadn't Alex wanted to get a good night's sleep? Well, he can always nap in the afternoon.

"And so do you if you want a ride to campus," John says. "Alex, come on. You know this stuff. Come to bed."

"How do I know I know it?" Alex asks. "How do I--what if I don't, what if there's something I haven't learned, something I'm missing entirely? What if there's something I've forgotten? What if--"

He doesn't notice his hands are shaking until John frowns and pushes himself off the wall to come closer.

"Alex, are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Alex insists. "I just need to--I have to keep studying this."

"You don't," John says. He looks more awake now, and he reaches out to take both of Alex's hands once he's close enough. "You know it all, you're a genius--are you having a panic attack?"

Alex pauses to listen to the thumping of his heart, to focus on the way his body is shaking and his thoughts are racing and his mind is catastrophizing over and over and over--

"Probably," he says. 

John squeezes his hands. "What do you need?"

"To get back to studying," Alex says, even though that just makes John roll his eyes. John tugs on his hands until he stands up and they're facing each other in the dull glow coming from Alex's laptop.

"Come on," John says, and slowly walks backward toward the hall, pulling Alex after him. Alex is too tired, too overwhelmed to do anything but follow. The loop in his mind (he needs to study, he needs to memorize, if he fails he loses everything) doesn't quiet, exactly, but it gets confused enough that instinct takes over, and he allows himself to be led to their bedroom and pushed gently back on the mattress. 

John climbs in after him and physically rearranges his limbs and the blankets until John is sitting propped up against the pillows and Alex is curled around him. His arms are around John's waist, and his head is resting against John's chest, and John is holding him with one arm and petting his hair with the other hand.

"It's okay," John says. "You're gonna be okay."

"But what if I'm not?" Alex asks. "What if I don't pass? I don't have any other options, I don't have anything to fall back on. This is all I know how to do, this is all I'm trained to do. This is all I've done since I was fourteen, and if I fail--if I get kicked out, that's it. I have _nothing_. I need to do well--I need to do better than well, because I need to be the best to make a name for myself. I need to create my legacy because I don't have a legacy to fall back on, I don't have anything to bring forward with me, it's just me and my dead mom and no dad and no money and no place to go. The only way I'm worth anything is if I'm the best in the room."

It feels good to say it out loud, to put word to the steady flow of adrenaline driving him to keep going, but it doesn't make his thumping heart or his racing thoughts slow any. He thought it might. He's never had anyone to tell these things to before, to explain. He just stayed in his bed, in his room, wrapped in his blankets and reading and studying until he passed out, hoping he'd feel better when he regained consciousness. He usually did.

"That's really not true," John tells him. His fingers in Alex's hair _are_ soothing, though, even if they don't exactly slow his thoughts or calm his heart, and the tight press of his body against Alex's own is something warm and solid to keep him where he needs to be, here on earth, in this moment. "First off, you're the smartest person I've ever met and one of the best parapsychologists. Secondly, they're not gonna kick you out on the off-chance you fail--you can take it again. Washington knows how smart you are--I think he'll do anything to keep you on. And you know this stuff, so you're not gonna fail in the first place. You know this stuff better than any of us. Thirdly, you're worth more than where you come from. If there's one thing I've learned this year, that's it. You're brilliant and talented and skilled and your parents and where you were born and how you got here don't change that." 

His nails drag against Alex's scalp, and Alex feels some of the tension leave his body. "But, finally," John continues, "I know that all of that means shit to you right now because panic attacks don't care about logic, so...I'm right here and I've got you and you're gonna be fine and I'm gonna hold on to you until you calm down, okay? Breathe with me."

Alex wants to protest, but it's easier to just close his eyes and hold on, especially once John shifts so he can take one of Alex's hands in his own. John presses their joined hands to his own chest and his heartbeat thumps against Alex's palm, steady and even. John's other hand never stops brushing through Alex's hair. Bit by bit, his thoughts stop racing and his pulse stops pounding in his ears and he feels like there's enough oxygen in the room to breathe.

An episode has never stopped this quickly before, even though it must have been a full fifteen minutes of clutching John in the quiet of the bedroom.

"Thanks," he finally says when his head has quieted to a dull roar. "No one's ever--how did you know?"

John doesn't release him, but Alex isn't complaining.

"I used to have panic attacks a lot," John admits. "Up until I had that last big fight with my dad. I got kind of a routine down eventually."

"Me too," Alex says. He doesn't bother to open his eyes. His head rises and falls with each breath that John takes, and with his eyes closed and the room quiet except for their breathing and their voices, he can allow himself to stay in this soothing trance, far away from the panic and the reality of how important this test is. "A routine, I mean. Usually once I pass out or fall asleep I feel better. It would happen maybe once a semester. Less frequently on the island."

"Mine happened...more than that," John says. "But they stopped when I finally stood up to my dad. I didn't have his shit weighing on me anymore. I was officially disinherited the first week of April, and I haven't had one since."

"So you kicked your dad to the curb and now you're cured?"

"Well, he did the kicking. But...I don't think it's something that you get cured from."

Alex lets out a long breath.

"Yeah," he says. "I don't think so either."

The lateness of the hour and the abrupt exhaustion that floods his system as the adrenaline takes its leave are suddenly making Alex feel heavy and fuzzy. He knows he should clean up the mess he left in the living room, but that all seems like so much work and would require pulling out of John's embrace. He doesn't want to do that, not yet, so he stays where he is. 

"Go to sleep," John murmurs. "Tomorrow we'll do classes and work and get dinner and then take the test. No more cramming. You know everything you're gonna know, and you're gonna ace the thing."

"Like, less than one half of one percent of people ace the IP certification exam," Alex protests sleepily.

"You're gonna be one of them. And no more studying--your mind needs to relax before this test and you can't work yourself into a panic attack leading up to it. Take a break."

"Fine," Alex mutters.

"I'm fucking serious, Alexander. Promise me you'll take a break. I'll take your books away if I have to."

"I promise," Alex says. 

"Swear?" John says. "I'm not kidding about taking your books."

"Whatever, whatever, I swear." Alex yawns and presses his face into John's shoulder. His t-shirt is soft.

"Go to sleep," John says. And with John's fingers still combing through his hair, he does.

He wakes once, briefly, in the low light of early morning.

"Ssssh," John murmurs, tucking the blankets around him. "Lafayette's gonna bring you in. Go back to sleep."

Alex tries to formulate a response as to why that's nonsense and how it will just be easier if he gets up now, but between one thought and the next he falls back to sleep.

He wakes up again, for real, to the sound of Lafayette singing along to French hip-hop in the kitchen as the microwave whirs. His phone tells him it's a little after nine, which isn't ideal, but will still get him back at the school with enough time to tweak some things in the lab before his 10:30 class. 

"John said to let you sleep until nine-thirty," Lafayette says when Alex goes out into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"John's a jackass," Alex says. "I had, you know, stuff I wanted to get done." He wanders into the living room to stack his books and laptop, only to discover that the binders containing his notes, John's notes, and Lafayette's notes are missing, along with Alex's test prep book. 

Lafayette follows him, leaning against the door jamb and watching as he looks under couch cushions and pillows for the missing books. "He also told me you promised you'd take a break. He took your books with him."

"He's not my mom, either," Alex mutters, throwing the pillow in his hands onto the couch with more force than is strictly necessary. 

"He said you agreed," Laf says.

"I did," Alex admits, "but I didn't, you know...." Lafayette raises his eyebrows. "Mean it."

Lafayette shrugs and ruffles his hair because Lafayette is an asshole. "I don't question your bedroom activities," he says. "There's coffee. We'll leave at nine-thirty. I imagine you would like to put on pants first."

Alex flips him off and trudges back into the bedroom to sift through the piles of laundry. He manages to find clean-ish jeans and a t-shirt that might be John's but smells like laundry detergent and not sulfur. He gathers his things, his coffee, and soon enough they're on their way across town to the university.

"Would you like me to drop you at the library so you can turn this adorable tiny glare on John instead of me?" Lafayette asks.

Alex flips him off again and says, "Yes."

There's still fifteen minutes left in John's library shift when Alex finds him in the basement computer lab, yawning and messing around on his tablet. The lab is empty save for John's supervisor, who's added a streak of blue to her spiky green hair since Alex last saw her.

"Oh, hey," John says, smiling up at Alex when he notices him. Alex turns the aforementioned glare on him. John raises a single eyebrow and Alex, predictably, melts a little.

"How do you do that?" he asks. He enters the lab and sits on the edge of the desk, facing John.

"Genetic quirk, I guess," John says. "You look marginally more rested. How do you feel?"

"Fine," Alex says. "You should have woken me."

"You needed sleep," John says.

" _You_ needed sleep. I woke you up."

"After I had already slept a few hours. You were up all night, and you didn't _need_ to be on campus at six a.m.. And even if you hadn't been up all night, that shit takes a toll on your body. It's physically exhausting. Doesn't your whole body hurt today?"

"Shut up," Alex mutters.

"That means I'm right," John says to Josie. She doesn't look up from her computer, but she smiles. John gets to his feet, then, and steps between Alex's knees. "I know you. You had blocked the whole day off for studying. But as we agreed, you're not studying anymore, so you're not missing anything. You didn't miss anything. Read a book or something. Write a blog post. Do literally anything that's not sticking your nose in a test prep book."

"Speaking of books," Alex says.

"You're not getting them back until after class. You promised."

Alex scowls. "You're really fucking annoying, you know that? I had a plan."

John just grins. "So? Plans change. Find something else to do," he says, tapping his fingers on Alex's thighs. "I know from personal experience that you're flexible." Alex narrows his eyes.

"You're just leave that out there, aren't you?" he says. John's innocent smile doesn't falter. "You're just gonna leave that wide open."

"Yup," John says.

"Just...wide open and waiting for me to slip in." John's eyebrow arches again and Alex reviews what he just said. "Fuck."

"See, that one isn't a euphemism, so it's not as funny," John says, and Alex can't help but groan.

"If I promise to fudge your timecard so it says you stayed until ten, do you promise to leave now before your innuendo gets worse and/or you move on to actually fucking?"

They both turn to Josie who, at the very least, looks amused through the skeptical look she's shooting them. And, hey, at least she's offering to cover for John and not fire him.

"Sorry, he's wearing my shirt, and it's doing weird things to me," John says. "Well, not that weird," he amends after a moment. "They're things I'm pretty familiar with, actually."

"Get out of here," she says around poorly disguised laughter, and John grabs his bag, waves at her once, and then takes Alex's hand and pulls him out of the computer lab.

"What is with you today?" Alex asks. "You're like, bordering on manic. That's usually my job."

"My boyfriend woke me up in the middle of the night before my 6am work shift, so I'm running on too much coffee and sugar," John says. "I'm a little punch-drunk."

"Sorry--" Alex tries to say, but John is already shaking his head.

"Nope," he says. "I'm glad I woke up. I'm glad I could help. And I want you to wake me up, you know, in the future, okay?"

"Sure," Alex says. He's not sure yet if it's a lie: past experience would incline him to believe it is, but something about John has already eaten through so many of his defenses that the notion of waking him up for help isn't, like...awful.

He's still mad about the books--he's pissed, really, and if he were less tired, he'd probably be giving John the cold shoulder about that. But he did promise. Also, it's also entirely possible that he's been a little crazed these past couple of days.

A little.

And, besides, John said he could have them back after class and he has class in half an hour anyway, so it's not like he's losing a ton of study time.

They walk back to the lab in comfortable silence, close enough that their arms brush every few steps. Alex has just enough time to refresh his coffee with the newly brewed pot there--and, okay, maybe Burr was making that for himself based on the look he gives Alex, but it's not like he can't make more--and grab his notebook and tablet before he's off to class.

"I'll see you later, okay?" he says, bussing John on the cheek. "And I'll get my shit back--"

"After class, yes." John doesn't glance up from his work station as he waves Alex off. "Get out of here and leave me alone. You're gonna be late."

Alex flips him off, which would be better if he would turn around to see it, and then rushes out to get to class.

The class itself is a joke; everyone is too amped up about the exam to focus. Alex only jumps in six or seven times, when normally he's jumping up to make at least twice as many contributions to the discussion. Adams still keeps them there the whole ninety minutes, which is fucking annoying, but she spends the last ten answering questions about what to expect on the test, so it could be worse.

And then they're out. Alex waits a whole two minutes before he heads back towards the lab with a purpose. There's only a half hour between the end of Alex's class and the start of John's next one, and Alex wants those fucking books back.

"Okay, I'm out of class, so--"

He stops talking when he realizes that John's desk is empty. In fact, Burr is the only person in the lab at all, and he glances up from his computer only when Alex clears his throat.

"I don't know where he is," Burr says, then looks back at his monitor. "I'm surprised you let him out of your sight long enough to lose him."

"Ha ha," Alex says flatly. "He didn't say--"

"Laurens isn't in the habit of telling me anything more than he absolutely has to."

He's not wrong--Burr and John's relationship is built on a genial antagonism that's maybe more antagonistic from John's side than genial. It's been only a few weeks, but Burr's already made it clear that he doesn't find John's sense of humor particularly funny, and John's made it clear that anything he can do to get under Burr's skin, he will.

"I guess I'll check the library," Alex says slowly. "If he comes back, could you tell him I'm looking for him? And text me?"

"Sure," Burr says, drawing out the vowel and making it clear he's doing this against his better judgement. 

Alex blithely ignores him and waves as he heads back out to the hall. "Thanks!" he calls behind him.

Out of the building, he texts _Where are you?_ one-handed as he weaves in and out of the students lingering on the sidewalks. There's no immediate answer, and Alex isn't entirely sure what John _does_ while Alex is in class. If he's not in the lab, then Alex's best bet is the library, but that hardly narrows it down.

Luck is on his side, however. John is in the third place he checks--the open study area on the second floor with a nice view of campus. The place is packed with students poring over books in near silence, the occasional murmur of conversation audible over the turning of pages and clacking of keyboards. John's checking something out on his tablet and looks up before Alex can sneak up behind him.

"Hey," he says quietly. "What's up?"

"You said I could have my books back," Alex says. "It's after class, and you said I could have my books back after class."

John rolls his eyes as he pushes away from the table and stands up.

"I meant after _my_ class," John says. "I don't have them with me; they're in my car."

"Well, then let's go get them," Alex says. He takes John's hand and winds their fingers together, tugging him towards the stairs. 

John doesn't budge. "I have class. I don't have time to get all the way over to the parking lot and back before then. Plus, I have to meet Dolley."

"Then give me your keys," Alex says, though he already knows this is a losing argument. "Where are they, the trunk?"

"You're not getting my keys," John says. "There are rules."

John's stupid fucking rules about his stupid fucking car. Christ.

"I'm not going to _drive it_ ," Alex says. "I can't drive it. You know that. I'm just getting into the trunk or whatever." Really, of all their friends, Alex should be the one John's most comfortable with having his keys.

"Backseat," John says. "And still. I'm not giving you my keys."

Alex tries for his best innocent, pleading expression.

"Don't you trust me?" he asks.

"With my car? No. I trust no one with my car."

Alex punches his shoulder for that.

"Look," John says, rubbing his arm where Alex hit it, "another hour and a half isn't gonna kill you. I'll go to the car right after class. I'll meet you there. But I'm going to class now, asshole."

Alex pouts. It has no effect.

"I'll see you after class," John says, nodding towards where Dolley Payne has ascended the stairs. He softens, then, and reaches out to brush his fingers against Alex's wrist. "I'm not punishing you or anything, okay? Just relax. That's the whole point, right? You're gonna make yourself sick on the schedule you were on and you know it or you wouldn't have agreed to the break. You've got this. In fact, it's annoying how much you've got this."

"Fuck off," Alex says, with no real bite. The words are further contradicted by the way he kisses the corner of John's mouth. John just rolls his eyes and squeezes Alex's hand before waving at Dolley and walking over to join her. She immediately grabs his arm and pulls him closer to look at something on her phone, already talking a mile a minute. Alex is glad that John has someone to be nerdy about photography with, but he really wishes it wasn't cutting into Alex's very important study time.

He shakes his head and turns towards his favorite table. Even without his books and notes, he can at least review some online materials on his tablet while John is in class. He pulls out the chair on the end, wincing as it bangs against the table leg, an unexpected burst of sound ringing through the mostly quiet study area. A few people glance over at him, but they don't have anything on the guy sitting opposite, who jumps about ten feet into the air. 

"Sorry," Alex murmurs.

The guy twitches before he nods. He's curled protectively around a notebook, glancing around the room like someone's about to come after him--Alex is intrigued, but mostly considering directing the guy to health services. He looks incongruously frail--sweaty and peaky. Alex does a double take when he realizes the dude is taller and wider than he is. He gives Alex the impression a strong wind could knock him over.

Alex definitely meant to focus on his tablet, but he can feel the dude looking at him. He looks up, cautiously, and realizes it's not him the guy is looking at--he's looking over Alex's shoulder at...the stairs?

Maybe all of this boils down to paranoia. Of course, if that's the case, Alex should probably choose somewhere else to sit just in case the guy snaps. He'd hate to have to reschedule his IP exam because some nutcase attacked him in a fit.

"Is everything okay, man?" he asks quietly, trying to look and sound as mild and inoffensive as possible. 

The guy startles and glances at Alex with wide eyes, then pulls a tissue out of his pocket and coughs into it nervously. "Of course," he says. "Everything is fine. Why wouldn't everything be fine?"

"'Cause you're staring over my shoulder like you're waiting for someone to burst into the room and tackle you?" Alex says with what he hopes is enough humor to keep him from being the person who's tackled.

"I'm not--it's just--no, you see--" 

Alex winces as the kid stutters uselessly. He's sorry he asked, now; he should have just moved to another table. He glances over his shoulder again, just to make sure there really isn't a paramilitary strike team sneaking up the stairs, but it's still just John and Dolley hunched over her phone and a library page sorting through a cart.

"There's...a girl...." the guy finally manages to get out. He fidgets. "I don't know her. I just...see her here every Friday. She's beautiful."

Alex turns around again. The only girl in that general direction is Dolley, who's shoving John hard and laughing as she straightens up. She takes his arm and pulls him down the stairs and Alex hears the guy in front of him sigh longingly. When he turns back around, the dude looks positively lovestruck and absolutely disheartened.

"Dolley?" he asks. "Dolley Payne?"

"You know her?" the guy says. "Please don't--please don't tell her I've noticed her. I don't want her boyfriend to get angry. I wouldn't--I have no intention, of course, of saying anything. I just notice her and--"

Alex frowns. He doesn't know Dolley _that_ well, but he's pretty sure she said something last weekend about being sick of being single.

"Boyfriend?" he asks.

"That guy," the guy says. He gestures towards the stairs. "I always see them together. It makes sense, of course. She's so beautiful, and he always makes her laugh."

"The guy she's--John?" Alex asks. This entire conversation is confusing and surreal, and Alex doesn't think it has anything to do with his lack of sleep and excess of coffee.

"I...don't know his name," the guy says. 

"Wait, wait, wait," Alex says. He needs to get a handle on this. This is a Thing, now. "You think that Dolley is dating the guy she just left with?" The dude nods. "Oh, man, I can't even begin to tell you the million reasons why that's hilarious. John is gay." The guy blinks at him. "I swear, it's true. I have intimate knowledge of how gay he is, in fact." The guy keeps blinking, so Alex adds, "Because he's my boyfriend. John is my boyfriend, not Dolley's. They just have a class together on Friday afternoons, so they walk over together."

"I...really?" the guys says. He looks almost...hopeful.

"What's your name, bro?" Alex asks.

"Madison," the guy says. "James, I mean. James Madison."

"Alex Hamilton," Alex says. He offers Madison his hand and they shake. The guy, predictably, doesn't have the strongest, driest handshake Alex has ever encountered. "Hand to god, John's gay and definitely not sleeping with Dolley. I spend like, twenty hours a day with him--I'd know." The name 'James Madison' is pinging something in his memory. "If he was having an affair or whatever, it'd probably be with our hot friend or maybe hate sex with this other guy we know--" And thinking about Burr slots it into place. "Oh! I know you!"

The wide-eyed, nervous look is back. "Wha-what?"

"I mean, I don't know you-know you," Alex amends, before Madison has a heart attack. "You did Princeton in two years! When I was applying there, I was trying to find people like that so I could ask them for advice." The other details are filtering in, however, and Alex remembers a little bit more about his messages to Madison. Madison never emailed him back--Madison's _mom_ emailed him back to inform him that Madison was "convalescing." She pretty heavily implied that trying to finish Princeton in two years was what triggered the need to "convalesce" in the first place and that Alex should maybe avoid attempting it himself. Shit.

"Oh," Madison says. "Uh--"

"But I ended up going to Columbia, so whatever," Alex adds quickly.

"Columbia's a good school," Madison says. He looks away and fiddles with the cover of the book in front of him. It doesn't take Alex more than a second to recognize it--it's Cromwell's _Spirits and the World Beyond_ , an old school parapsych textbook that is, in his opinion, total garbage. It has a strong religious bent, declaring that the only people who can see ghosts are the most devout and the worst of the sinners. The devout are gifted with the sight to help others; sinners are being punished for their unholy ways, tormented by the undead. It's been largely discredited, but old white dude parapsychologists still try to use it to prove certain points about spirit sensitivity, claiming not all of Cromwell's ideas were bad.

"Is that Cromwell's book?" Alex asks, pointing at the worn paperback. It has a "USED" sticker from the school bookstore on the spine.

"Uh, yes," Madison says. He blinks owlishly at Alex.

"Someone assigned that garbage as reading?" 

Madison relaxes at Alex's accusation and even offers Alex a smile.

"It is garbage, isn't it?" he says. "I honestly can barely get through this nonsense."

"I understand why," Alex says. He read it in high school--it was stocked at Beekman and Cruger--and physically threw it across the room at least once. "All that religious crap framed as 'research.'"

"It's honestly ridiculous," Madison says. "I can't believe it was published. I can't believe it's still sold. I couldn't bring myself to spend money on a new copy."

"I don't blame you," Alex says. "I would probably pirate it out of spite if it was assigned to me."

Madison laughs. He's been relaxing incrementally the longer they speak and Alex is proud of himself. The guy's skittish as a rabbit and Alex _maybe_ has a habit of coming on so strong that he scares off anyone without a personality at least half as big as his own. That's what Mr. Stevens used to say, anyway.

"I'll have to remember that for next time," he says. "I only spent five dollars on this and it still feels like too much. I find it hard to believe people actually study this and take it seriously."

"I know!" Alex says. He deduces he's a little too loud when several of the people around them turn to look at him. He quiets himself quickly--Madison seems like the sort of dude that doesn't like people staring at him. "Of all the research out there, to glom onto this, right? Of course, it's usually old white guys clinging to it."

"I've noticed," Madison says wryly. 

"And I don't care how popular or respected it was in its time, it's stupid to read it as foundational knowledge or whatever. Why should we have to waste so much time on something so wrong?"

"I completely agree," Madison says. They grin at each other, and Alex feels like maybe they're becoming friends. He's not sure what year Madison is--he looks older than most of the first year parapsych grad students, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe Alex could introduce him to the rest of their gang; he doesn't want to judge the guy, but nothing about him screams "I have lots of friends."

Madison's phone vibrates on the table and he does a double-take when he looks at it.

"Someone important?" Alex asks.

"Somewhere to be," Madison says apologetically. "I completely lost track of time--I'm supposed to be meeting my friend at the cafe." He jumps to his feet and starts stuffing books and notebooks into his bag.

"I won't keep you, then," Alex says. "But you should definitely come to the Frog tonight. We'll all be there around eight or so. I can introduce you to my friends, but, more importantly, I can introduce you to Dolley."

"You don't have to--"

"Nah, I want to," Alex says. "See you later?"

"I'll think about it," Madison says, but he's starting to smile. Alex would put money on seeing him again later tonight.

With Madison gone, there's nothing to distract him from his reading, save for obsessively checking the time to see if John's class is almost over.

***

John doesn't look surprised to see Alex lingering outside of his photography classroom when the class ends and he files out with everyone else.

"Do you have him trained to do that?" Dolley asks John, pointing at Alex with her elbow. "How do I get one of those?"

"Steal his shit and lock it in your car," John says dryly. "Come on, you impatient asshole, let's get this over with."

John waves at Dolley and gestures for Alex to follow him out to the parking lot, as if Alex isn't already twitching to sprint out to John's car. He has to be moving slowly on purpose, just to fuck with Alex, and Alex all but snatches his books and notebooks out of John's hands when he finally pulls them out of the backseat.

"Alexander, chill out," John says. "We've only got a couple hours until the test, do you really think you can learn anything you don't know?"

"Maybe," Alex says, hugging the books to his chest. "Maybe something I see now will jog my memory about something I need for the exam."

John rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue any further. He closes the back door of his car and relocks it, then turns to Alex and--

Turns away from Alex just as quickly. He rubs the back of his neck and stares out at the grass beyond the parking lot, the copse of trees visible from their lab windows.

"Hey, can we sit for a second and talk before you run off to memorize the rest of your notes?" he says. He's still not looking at Alex. The not looking thing is weird, but the wanting to talk thing is even weirder--their first meeting aside, John is cagey as shit when it comes to talking about anything personal. This should be good.

"Of course," Alex says.

John nods towards the trees and shoves his hands in his pockets, leading the way over to them. Alex follows, staying a step or two behind so he can observe John fully. His shoulders are stiff and there's something about him that seems smaller, like he's curled in on himself. He walks past the bench by the walkway and over to the grassy space between the trees, where he sits down on the ground cross legged. 

Alex sits across from him, dropping his books and bag next to him and watching John with interest as he opens his own backpack and pulls out one of his sketch books. He opens it and puts it on his lap. The angle is such that Alex can't see precisely what's in it, but he can tell that it's writing, not a drawing.

"Uh. Hey," John says. He looks at Alex, finally, biting his lip.

"Hi," Alex says. He can't help the lopsided smile that sneaks out at John's discomfort. It's really fucking cute.

"So, um," John says. He glances down at his sketchbook and then back up at Alex. "I wanted to--I wanted to talk a little bit about what happened last night, if that's okay."

Alex feels the smile slip off of his face and twist into something more like surprise. This was not what he was expecting to hear.

"Um," Alex says.

John looks back down at his sketchbook.

"I'm worried about you," he says, without looking up. "The last week or so has been a little scary, the level of dedication you've had for studying and the way you blocked everything else out. I can make certain assumptions based on the panic attack you had last night, but I'd rather hear it from you because I'd like to help however I can." John still hasn't looked up and, frankly, Alex is stunned speechless at this little monologue. He would have expected John to have run away screaming by this point, based on his usual levels of enthusiasm for talking about this sort of shit. "I care about you, and so do Laf and Herc. I know that anxiety doesn't always make sense, but I think it's important that you know your inter--interior--"

It finally hits Alex.

"Are you reading this?" he asks before John can go any further. "Did you--did you write yourself a script to ask me about my feelings?"

If Alex had any doubts, the speed with which John blushes and looks away would destroy them.

"Shut up," John mutters.

"Oh my god, you did," Alex says. "You wrote notes!"

"So what?!" John asks. "Jesus, Alex, it's just--" He runs the fingers of one hand through the end of his ponytail, then looks at Alex with some difficulty. "It's important, okay? I wanted to make sure I got it right because it's _important_."

He holds Alex's gaze, and the longer they stare at each other, the less funny it becomes. Less funny and more...sweet.

"John," Alex says softly, and John finally looks away.

"It's stupid," he mutters.

"It's not stupid," Alex insists. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stopped you. What else did you want to say?"

John glances back down at his sketchbook and closes it. He looks up again, but he doesn't look back at Alex.

"What you were saying last night, about being afraid you're not good enough, that you're going to fail--I just--you're so smart, Alex. You're a genius. You can think circles around all of us." He plays with the end of his ponytail, a furrow forming across his brow. Alex wants to reach out and smooth it with his thumb.

He refrains. John's got more to say, still. 

"And obviously," he continues, "I only know, like, the shit you tell me. But you've been through a lot and you're so smart and so talented that you shouldn't think for a moment that you're going to bomb this test, and even if you do, you shouldn't think for a moment that you don't have any worth outside of it. Even if you fail, there are a million people who would, I don't know, hire you as a consultant or whatever. And even if there aren't--we're here for you. And we care. And we're not shipping you back to wherever you came from just because you don't get a good score on a test. And I get why it's hard to believe that, with the anxiety, but I hope you know, now...I've been there. I get it. And I really hope that you can, you know. Talk to me. If you feel that way again."

John breathes in deeply and then breathes out. On his next inhale, he turns to meet Alex's eyes again.

"And that's all," he says. "Just. Talk to me. Which I know isn't...easy."

"Yeah, but it's worth it," Alex says before he even realizes he's saying it. If anything, John blushes more, his eyes wide. Alex cuts him a break and rushes onwards. "And if I don't--if I'm not relying on you, it's not a slight. I'm just not used to having anyone to rely on. I haven't really trusted anyone--I mean, _really_ trusted them--since my mom died. And I trust you. That's not nothing, and it's a big adjustment."

A huge adjustment. Alex feels his world tilting, or maybe expanding. He's not sure how to wrap his head around this, around people who care about him, around people who would help him without question. He's spent years--fuck, almost a decade, now--learning how to rely on himself. He can't remember what it's like to rely on other people, if he's ever known at all. 

Connections. Friends. A support system. He doesn't know that he can change his ways after so much time living his life in a self-contained bubble, but he can try. He can try, and he can trust in John, which seems insane--he's hardly known John more than a month. But there's something there, something deep down, something in John that speaks to something in him. Something that makes him feel like he knows John, really knows him. He's not sure what it is, but he's willing to take a gamble and put his faith in it, at least for the time being.

"I know," John says. He tips his head back and stares up at the trees. "I just...hate seeing you like that. I hate thinking that you believe you'd lose everything if you fail the exam. Because you won't. You're stronger than that."

Alex watches John for a moment, the curl of his shoulders, the pink tint still clinging to his cheeks, the way the some stubborn rays of sunlight are filtering through the trees and highlighting his hair. There's a strange enormity to what he's feeling, a weight he can't quite identify, an ache that goes through him as he stares at John fidgeting in the sunlight.

He's not alone. He has people to rely on. He has a boyfriend who takes careful notes before talking to him because he's afraid of leaving something out--because he thinks Alex's feelings are that important.

Alex awkwardly swings his legs around and rolls up until he's on his hands and knees in the grass. John looks down just in time to see Alex crawling across the short distance between them so he can kneel up and hold John's face between his hands and kiss him.

He doesn't let go when the kiss ends, just leans forward so their foreheads are resting together. He brushes his thumbs across John's cheekbones and struggles to find words. He's never in his life struggled to find words before he met John Laurens.

"Thanks," he says.

"Nothing to thank," John says faintly. He looks not unlike a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt at any moment. 

Alex kisses him again, long and slow, each press of lips and tongue measured until he feels John relax under his hands. When they break apart again, John sighs.

"Don't you have studying to do?" John murmurs. He's raised his hands to curl around Alex's wrists, his thumbs right on the pulse point.

"Studying can wait a little longer," Alex says, startled to realize he means it. 

"I told you that you were a genius," John says before he captures Alex's lips in another kiss.

***

"Leave your books," Lafayette says, hours later, as they're finally, _finally_ , preparing to leave for the exam. 

After a few restless hours of studying and a quick dinner, Alex can't say that he's confident about the test, but he's ready for it to be over, if nothing else. It's being administered in the computer lab of the Humanities building, which seems stupid--everyone taking it is currently holed up in various labs and offices here in the parapsych wing, just waiting to walk over. From where he's standing in Washington's lab, books hugged to his chest, he can see Dolley Payne and Molly Ludwig and Tad Kościuszko entering the hallway, and everyone on campus can probably hear James Coleman's bitching. It would make more sense to have it here, but what does Alex know about scheduling?

He looks back to Laf, standing near the door with his arms crossed.

"But if there's time before the test starts I can--" Alex starts to say, but Lafayette takes the books out of his hands and places them pointedly on the nearest desk. Alex looks to John and Burr for help, but John's made it clear he agrees with Laf and Burr won't let himself be pulled into their shit, as usual.

"If you don't know it now, you do not know it," Lafayette says. 

"He's right," John says. He comes up next to Alex and bumps their shoulders together. "You're gonna be fine. Let's go get this shit over with so we can move on with our lives."

A plea not to tempt fate is on the tip of Alex's tongue, but John can be a contrary asshole and Alex wouldn't put it past him to up the ante rather than apologize for the comment.

"Fine, fine," he mutters. "Let's just go do this thing."

The four of them walk over to the Humanities building together, though they don't say much. A handful of other parapsych first years are trailing in front of them, and Alex can hear Ben Walker talking to Henry Lee behind them. He makes himself breathe evenly and focus on his destination, which is easier when John slips his hand into Alex's and squeezes tightly. Alex spares him a small smile and is rewarded with a quick, lop-sided grin in return.

In front of the computer lab, they line up to check in with their test ID numbers and are handed numbered cards that indicate which computer is theirs. John and Laf are on the other side of the room from Alex, but Burr is two seats over, and Alex glances at him nervously once they sit down.

"Good luck," he says.

"I don't need it," Burr says. "I'm going to do fine. And so are you."

It's maybe the kindest thing that Burr has said to him since the day they met. Alex is momentarily stunned, and before he can say anything in return--a thank you, a question, anything--one of the Masters kids he doesn't know sits between them.

Before he knows it, the proctor is standing in front of the room and instructing them on how to use their testing program and how to start the test. Alex types in his name and identifying information mechanically, his mind whirring with facts and methods and history, his palms sweating, his hands shaking a little.

The timer at the front of the room starts. Alex clicks "Begin Exam" on his computer screen.

Okay. Question one.

_The Branwen Incantation, transliterated from the Welsh and still in use today, has several components that control different effects of the incantation. What effect does the recitation of the incantation inside of a power circle of sulfur produce?_

_a) Strengthening a Level One manifestation to a Level Three or above_  
_b) Opening spiritual pathways to induce communication with a Level One manifestation_  
_c) De-escalating a Level Four manifestation to a Level Two or below_  
_d) Closing spiritual pathways to suspend communication from a Level Four manifestation_  
_e) None of the above_

Alex almost skips ahead to click the answer but forces himself to read the question again and then all of the answers to be sure. But no--his first instinct was right, the answer is (d). 

It can't be that easy. The first question was probably a fluke.

He moves onto question two, but it's almost as quick. 

_An exorcism of a Level Four entity artificially woken involves the following:_

_a) A willing blood sacrifice_  
_b) An unwilling blood sacrifice_  
_c) An electromagnetic charge_  
_d) A power circle of salt_  
_e) Both (a) and (d)_  
_f) Both (b) and (d)_

The answer is obvious, (e), and after he clicks it, he quickly skims the rest of the questions on the first page to see when it starts to get difficult. Except it doesn't.

Maybe it starts to get difficult on the next section.

It doesn't get more difficult on the next section or the section after that or the matching or the diagram that needs to be labelled. The chem test isn't difficult, and the equipment categorization is laughably easy. In fact, the whole thing is so easy that Alex starts to get suspicious, but no matter how many times he re-reads the questions, they don't seem to be tricks. They're just...simple, basic shit that he's known since he was fourteen years old.

He finishes the exam with almost forty-five minutes left of their two hour test period, and that's after checking and re-checking three times. He takes a deep breath and hits "Submit Exam," then watches as a confirmation pops up reminding him that his answers can no longer be changed and he can pick up his preliminary grade at the end of the testing period. He glances around the room--everyone else is still hunched over their computers, but Alex doesn't see any benefit in pretending he's not done. He gets up from his chair as quietly as he can and goes to the front of the room to hand his cardboard number to the proctor.

"You can wait outside," she tells him, and he ducks out into the empty hall.

The test couldn't have been that easy. There's no way that an exam this important--the certification for their entire field--could be that simple. He didn't waste the past two weeks of his fucking life driving himself out of his mind studying for a test he could have aced as a teenager.

It takes about fifteen minutes for the door to open again, and when it does, John slips out to join him in the hallway, along with three other people he vaguely recognizes.

"Jesus, that was easy," Alex says to him. "I mean--that was actually easy, right? Because either that was easy as shit, or I failed spectacularly. It could go either way."

"You did fine," John murmurs, leaning against the wall next to him. "Although, maybe you want to keep your voice down about how easy it was, babe." He gestures with his elbow to a guy from Von Steuben's lab--Coleman, maybe?--who looks vaguely green and is glaring daggers at Alex and John. John grins cheerfully at him because John is a total shithead, and Alex finds that way more attractive than he probably should.

"I mean," Alex says, his voice a little softer, "I guess I won't know until I have the score in my hand, but it _felt_ easy."

"Yeah," John says. "There were a couple I struggled with, but overall it was fine."

It's another few minutes until Lafayette joins them, with Burr and Dolley Payne on his heels.

"I got totally lost in the middle of section three," Dolley says. "I mean, I know I can always retake it, but I think I'd rather just take it again than have to live with a 75. I want at least an 80, but I'm aiming for an 85."

"An 85 is what?" Burr asks. "90th percentile?"

"Yeah," Dolley says. "Aiming high, I know."

"I think we all are, no?" Lafayette asks. "I know, having lived with the preeminent scholar in the field, I would be embarrassed receiving lower than 90th percentile myself."

"I mean, we all _want_ a good score, but fuck, that was hard, wasn't it?" Molly Ludwig asks. "It wasn't just me, right?"

"No," Dolley says, "I definitely wish I spent a few more hours studying."

John elbows Alex and raises his eyebrows. Alex gets the message. _See? It wasn't easy for everyone._ Of course, that just starts the creeping doubt again--what if it felt easy because Alex was so far off base he blew the whole thing?

Eventually, time is officially called and the stragglers wander out of the exam room. There's some shuffling around, and about five minutes later the proctor appears with her laptop and takes a seat at the empty desk in the hallway.

"If you'll line up in roughly the order you completed your exam and give me your test ID number, I'll give you your score," she says. There's a shuffle between the population in the hall, and Alex slips into the first place in line. At least he doesn't have to wait to learn his results.

"ID?" the proctor asks when he steps up to the desk. 

"2702413," Alex tells her and he holds his breath as she types it in and watches her eyes go wide.

"Holy crap," she murmurs.

"Is that...good?" he asks.

"'Is that good?' Honey, you've got the second perfect score I've ever seen in all my years giving this exam," she says. 

It takes a moment for Alex to process her words.

"Perfect score?" he repeats. "Like...100%? Like, all the correct answers?"

John, ostensibly up next, joins him at the desk, grinning.

"See?" he says, throwing his arm over Alex's shoulders. "I told you. I told you that you'd ace it."

"Congratulations, honey," the proctor says. "You'll get your official results via email tomorrow and a certificate in the mail in 5-10 business days. Next?"

"4207054," John says, still grinning up at Alex. "You're a genius, and you were always gonna be amazing. You're gonna put the rest of us to shame."

"I wouldn't go that far, sweetie," the proctor says. "Because you got a 99."

Now it's John's turn to go wide-eyed. "What? I--what?"

"You heard me," she says, smiling wryly.

"But you mean like...I got ninety-nine right total, right? Not--"

"Ninety-nine percent," she says. "You're maybe the fourth I've ever seen. You two study together?"

"What?" John says for the third time, and Alex laughs.

"You're not an idiot either, you know," Alex says.

"I know, but...." John starts to say, and trails off. "Really?"

"Good job, boys," the proctor says. "Official email tomorrow, certificate in 5-10 business days, et cetera. Next!"

Alex feels a little dazed. John looks like you could knock him over with a feather.

"What the fuck is happening up there?" Alex hears someone in the line ask.

"Hamilton got a fucking perfect score," Molly mutters. "Figures."

"Welp, Washington's definitely winning that office pool that totally doesn't exist," Dolley says.

"We've gotta celebrate," Alex says to John, ignoring the chatter that's broken out on the line.

"That's where we're going," John says, shaking himself once, almost hard enough to throw off the arm Alex has tucked around his waist. "Jesus, did that really just happen?"

"It did," Alex says, a smile spreading across his face as the news really sinks in. "Fuck, did you hear that? Three other people who've gotten a ninety-nine before you!"

"And only one other who's gotten a perfect score," John says. He's smiling too. "Are Lafayette and Burr done yet? Because we've gotta go meet Mulligan at the bar and celebrate. Holy _shit_!" 

He throws his other arm around Alex's neck, which knocks them both off balance and propels them towards the wall as John swings around to Alex's front. Alex bounces off the wall, which just leaves them pressed incredibly close, front to front, with just enough time to laugh breathlessly once before John tugs Alex in that last inch for a kiss. It's messy and fragmented--they keep laughing and smiling and stumbling down the hall, and it's not until they're nearly at the door to the parking lot that they slow enough for it to shift into a real kiss, lingering and warm, but still celebratory. Alex fists his hands in the back of John's hoodie, pulling him even closer, letting the disbelief and joy vibrating through him pass on to John through the steady movement of his lips, through his teeth nipping at John's lower lip, through his tongue running along the back of John's teeth.

"Get a room!" Someone--Dolley?--shouts, laughing, and they break the kiss, though they don't go far. Lafayette and Burr are headed down the hallway towards them, with Dolley and Molly and Pickney and a few other people whose names Alex isn't sure of. 

"I texted Mulligan to tell him it's a celebration, not a consolation," Lafayette says. "He is already at the Frog."

"Are you guys headed that way too?" John asks the group gathered behind Lafayette.

"Where else would we go?" Molly says.

"I just mean, we should all celebrate together," John says. Which is not precisely what Alex was hoping for. A few drinks with Lafayette and Mulligan, he thought, people who mostly didn't mind if he and John spent the entire time groping each other, and then home to _really_ celebrate. "I mean--as long as you all have something to celebrate."

"89!" Molly says, grinning.

"85," Dolley says with a smug smile.

"91," Lafayette says. "Thankfully. Anything less than high eighties and I would have been embarrassed to tell George and Martha."

"Burr?" Alex asks, because he's been suspiciously quiet.

"Oh," Burr says. "95."

"Then let's get celebrating!" John says, and kisses Alex one last time before dragging him out towards the parking lot by the hand.

In the end, Dolley and Molly, plus Ben Walker from von Steuben's lab and Henry Lee and Tad Kościuszko from Greene's lab, join their group. Lafayette texts ahead, so there are tables waiting for them in the back, along with two pitchers of beer, two baskets of wings. Hercules is holding a noisemaker between his teeth, one of the plastic ones with a paper tail that unfurls when you blow into it. 

"Congrats, Ham!" he says after blowing it enough times that other patrons start to shoot him dirty looks. "I mean, good job all you kids, but a fuckin' perfect score?"

"John got a 99," Alex adds automatically, even as he preens a little under the praise. He drops down onto the bench of their round booth and slides to the middle with John close behind him. Soon the booth and the table Hercules pulled up to the edge of it are full of plates of wings and cups of beer and phones and notebooks being passed back and forth as they debate the merits of various theories and papers and ideas. 

At Columbia, Alex had been invited out with other kids in his major a handful of times, but it had never felt like this. He's talking to Dolley, but John's hand is resting heavy on his thigh, even as John has a shouted conversation with Walker sitting three seats down. Lafayette is teaching Molly Ludwig some key French phrases and keeps turning back to Alex to laugh or raise an eyebrow over the more lascivious ones. Mulligan continues to supply the beer and wings, shrugging off offers to pitch in from the rest of them. He feels a sort of connection, even, to the people he doesn't know that well--Tad and Henry and Ben Walker. Between the heady sensation of belonging and the three beers he's managed so far, Alex can't remember the last time he felt this content.

Eventually Tad and Ben split off to go play darts, and Henry and Molly head home. The stragglers lounge around, talking idly as they nurse their drinks. The lack of sleep the night before is catching up to John: he's tucked his head into the space between Alex's neck and shoulder and is only occasionally adding wordless noises--both encouraging and discouraging--to Alex’s conversation with Burr. 

Alex scratches John's scalp idly and glances up to see where Mulligan is--at the bar, getting another pitcher. As his eyes swoop back, however, he notices another familiar face leaving the bar with a bottle of beer.

"Hey!" he calls out, and Madison turns towards the shout, his brows knitted together until he notices Alex tucked into the booth, half covered by John. Alex waves him over, sparing half a glance to Dolley, chatting quietly with Lafayette. He raises his eyebrows and jerks his head towards Dolley. "Come sit with us, man," he says out loud. 

"I couldn't intrude," Madison says, and without a stutter, so he's already doing better than he was this afternoon. 

"Nah, you're not intruding," Alex says. "We're celebrating." 

John sits up and pushes his hair out of his face, leaning on Alex's shoulder but upright again, at least. Alex points at him discreetly and hopes that, _See? Boyfriend. Queer._ comes across.

Madison glances at Dolley and then quickly looks away when she and Lafayette look up at him. "Uh...what are you...what are you celebrating?" he asks, pointedly looking at Alex and not to Alex's left.

"We all just took our IP certification exam," Alex says. "And passed, obviously."

"Aced it," John says, sounding slightly more awake than he has previously, just a hint of his long-buried Southern accent coloring his words. "Alexander aced it. This asshole got a perfect score on the fucking Investigative Parapsychologist certification exam and that's really, like, way hotter than it should be."

"That's because you're a giant nerd," Alex says fondly. He's tipsy enough to turn and press his forehead against John's, their noses brushing together as they give each other matching saccharine grins. Fuck, they're totally becoming one of _those_ couples, but Alex will worry about that when he's sober. "I'm a giant nerd too, though, because your 99 has me pretty hot, and I think we're gonna have some great celebration sex when we get home, as long as you can stay awake that long."

"On it," John says. He pulls out his wallet and tosses it at Mulligan. "Herc, go get me a vodka red bull."

Alex looks back to Madison, rolling his eyes.

"Can you believe I let this shithead kiss me after drinking that crap?" he asks, but Madison's expression is...strange. Shocked and almost pained. In another circumstance, Alex would immediately ascribe it to homophobia, but Madison knows he's queer, knows he and John are a couple, and had no reaction to it at the time. "Have a seat, man," he says.

"Uh...." Madison's eyes dart to the left and the right. He pulls a tissue out of his pocket and wipes his nose. Jesus, he can't be that afraid of Dolley fucking Payne. She's fiery as hell, but even if she's not interested in Madison, she's not going to destroy him. He's like a kitten; it would be cruel.

"What's wrong?" Alex finally asks when it becomes clear Madison isn't going to sit down or meet his eyes. 

"Uh--" Madison starts to say.

"He's just thinking of a way to tell y'all that your entire field is full of bullshit," says someone else, a tall black guy with hair wild enough to rival Lafayette's, wearing a purple jacket with way too many asymmetrical zippers. He has a Southern accent, but it's more pronounced than John's; he's definitely not trying to hide it.

"Ugh, _Thomas_ ," Lafayette mutters, dropping his head to the table. "Must you?"

"What did you say?" John asks, shaking himself a little and pushing himself up with a hand on Alex's thigh.

"Gil, I'm never gonna get why you waste your time with this crap," the stranger--Thomas?--says. John looks at Alex and raises an eyebrow, mouthing _Gil?_.

"You are short-sighted and annoying," Lafayette says dismissively.

"Excuse me," Alex says, waving a hand towards Madison and the newcomer. "What the fuck?"

"Thomas Jefferson," the man supplies.

"He was President of the Skeptic Society at William and Mary," Lafayette says to Alex. "He spent a year studying abroad in Paris while I was back there for family business."

"And I'm disappointed you still haven't come to your senses about all this nonsense." Jefferson shakes his head condescendingly. 

Alex's entire body tenses up. John's grip on his thigh tightens painfully.

"Excuse me?" Alex says again, a harder edge to it this time. " _'Nonsense?'_ "

"Your ridiculous ghosthunting," Jefferson says. He flaps his hand dismissively at Alex and turns back to Lafayette. "There are explanations for these things, Gil. There aren't boogeymen hiding under the damn bed moving shit around at night."

"Excuse me!" Alex says again. He climbs over John and stumbles out of the booth. "Excuse me, I think it's possible you're unaware that this is a science? That it's documented fact? There are explanations--the explanations are what we study in our field."

"Hamilton, chill," Dolley says. She sounds bored already. "You can't argue with skeptics."

"You've met Alex, right?" John says. Alex might be mistaken, but he thinks he detects a note of pride in John's tone.

"Nonsense," Jefferson says. He glares down at Alex--okay, so Jefferson's got a few inches on him, whatever--like he's something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "It's all nonsense blown up by the media, trying to get people to believe that leaky faucets and old pipes mean they've gotta hire some overpriced charlatan--"

"Excuse me!" Alex snaps. "Most of us are happy to work on a sliding scale if it means helping a person in a dangerous situation--"

"It's only dangerous ‘cause people like you build it up in their heads into something it's not," Jefferson says. He crosses his arms and glares down at Alex. Alex's hands fist at his sides. "You put ideas into people's heads, turn scary movies and stories into real life. This supposed ' _science_ '--" And, if Alex didn't hate this guy already, the air quotes would have sealed the deal. "--is, what, thirty, forty years old? If it's really so natural, why is it only just being taken seriously?"

"Computer science is only like, forty years old, but I see you've got a smartphone," Alex snaps.

"Computers are tangible things. You can prove them," Jefferson says. "Your little noises and lights--"

"-- _and_ ," Alex continues, raising his voice and rocking up onto his toes, "parapsychology has been around as long as the written word, we just didn't take it seriously as a science until recently."

"'Parapsychology,'" Jefferson parrots. "You mean ravings by old town crones that you pretend support your work so you can claim it's old as mud?"

"I mean documentation by respected members of communities that were disregarded because assholes weren't able to accept that power structures in other places might not look the same as their own," Alex snaps. "Spirits, manifestations, even entities have been documented in stories and books _consistently_ for thousands and thousands of years!"

"If that's true, how do you explain them?" Jefferson asks. "Where do these so-called manifestations come from? Where do they go?"

"That's exactly what the field is trying to figure out!" Alex shouts. "You can't just discount a _documented phenomenon_ just because you don't understand it! Do you want to get rid of physics and astronomy too? Because we definitely don't understand all the complexities of the universe yet!"

"Those are hard sciences with years of precedent," Jefferson says dismissively, as if there isn't years of precedent of parapsychology too, as if he's not writing over generations of midwives and local witches and all sorts of ancient beliefs, usually female and frequently dismissed as nonsense until men began to take over the field in the late 1800s. "I don't know what they taught you in whatever backwater little country you came from, but here in America we don't make things up and call them science."

Alex's ears are ringing and his pulse is racing. He can't speak because he's so shocked. Shocked and embarrassed and then angry that he's embarrassed, and he needs to do something, say something, but he's distracted from seeing red by John fucking _vaulting_ over the table, knocking over glasses and the dregs of a pitcher of beer, and launching himself at Jefferson fist first.

It would have been a solid hit, too--Jefferson was too shocked to move in time--if Lafayette hadn't swooped in and grabbed him around the middle mid-flight.

"Let me go!" John growls. It's almost comical--Lafayette's got his arms around John's middle, pinning his arms to his sides. His feet are dangling over the ground, kicking desperately, but Lafayette's grip is strong despite the lazy, drunken slur his words had taken on, and John isn't going anywhere. "That piece of shit doesn't get to talk about people like that! Like Alex isn't fucking worth ten of him!"

"Mulligan, I think it is time for us to go," Lafayette says. "Please collect Hamilton. Thomas, you're better than this, and if you speak of my friends like that again, I will not hold them back."

Jefferson makes another comment that Alex doesn't hear over the blood rushing past his ears and Mulligan's muttered, "Come on, kid, let's get out of here."

In the parking lot, in the cool evening breeze of mid-September, Laf releases John, who gives him a solid shove.

"I'm gonna _ruin_ that fucker!" he shouts at the closed door, but he doesn't run back inside, just paces in a tight circle.

"He's not worth it," Lafayette says. "Unlike the usual ruffians you pick fights with, Thomas is rich, smug, and would not hesitate to, ah, litigate if necessary. Such a crass American stereotype."

"I'm calling us an Uber," Hercules says. "Mind if I crash on your couch? I'm still half shitfaced."

"He doesn't get to fucking talk about Alex that way!" John snaps, and Alex has seen this before--three or four beers into the night, John's quick to pick a fight with any skeptic looking for one and some who aren't. It's usually mostly harmless scuffling and a few exchanged punches before it breaks up--John's scrappier than he looks, but Alex is pretty sure those fights are mostly fighting for the sake of it, rather than to win. It's always over stupid parapsych shit. He never gets this angry and it's not usually over....

"You were going to fucking floor that guy to defend my honor?" Alex asks.

"Fuck yes!" John says, still glaring at the closed door. "That guy was--"

John's back hits the wall with a thump--a far corner of Alex's mind, the part that's not concentrating on crawling inside John through his mouth, acknowledges the noise and that maybe he threw himself at John a little harder than he needed to. Mostly he's otherwise occupied, his hands already tangled in John's hair, kissing him deeply, messily, with too much teeth and too much tongue, even as John meets him every step of the way, his hands already underneath Alex's shirt. He pins John to the wall with his hips, or tries to, but when John can't move forward any more, he starts trying to fucking climb Alex, which is hot, it's so hot, John's fingernails against the bare skin of his back is hot, John's leg wrapped around his hip is hot, and John's dick pressing against his stomach is definitely hot. 

"Somebody get a goddamn hose," Herc says somewhere behind them, but Alex doesn't pay him any mind. He pulls one hand out of John's hair and curls it under his ass, urging him upwards and, wow, John is heavier than he looks, but the wall is still there to take half his weight when he wraps both his legs around Alex's waist while still sucking on his tongue. God, he wants John to suck his dick like that. Or maybe he wants to suck John's dick. Or maybe he wants to fuck him.

Lots of options. He's open for any of them, really. Soon. As soon as possible.

John breaks away, gasping for air, and Alex kisses behind his ear, his jaw, his throat, drags his teeth across the skin there. John shivers with his whole body, a grinding jolt, as Alex bites a little harder and then soothes it with his lips.

"I gotta--I wanna fuck, I wanna suck your dick, I wanna--"

"Yes," John wheezes. "Yes, yes, good--fuck, yes--home--"

"We're too far away, what about your car?" Alex asks, right up against the side of his neck, and then immediately goes back to leaving what's gonna be a hell of a hickey in the morning.

"No, no, no, no fucking in my car ever," John mumbles. He presses Alex closer to his throat, his nails digging into Alex's scalp. "Shit, don't stop."

"Do we pull them apart?" Mulligan asks. "Cause I don't wanna get in the middle of...but I don't want to watch them fuck on the sidewalk either, you know? And the car's gonna be here in a minute."

"I will handle it," Lafayette says, and then Alex tunes them all out because, what if they just go around the corner and jerk each other off? John's grip on his hair tightens and it hurts, but it also feels so incredibly good, John's legs around his waist feel good, but he needs more friction, he needs--

And that's when he and John are abruptly drenched. With ice water. 

"What the _fuck_!"

" _Shit!_ "

He drops John, who falls back against the wall as Alex nearly topples back onto his ass. He blinks rapidly, his eyes darting from John--eyes wide, wet hair half hanging in his face--and around the sidewalk in front of the bar--

And there's Lafayette, arms crossed, holding an empty pitcher.

"Keep it in your pants in public, please," Lafayette says. "The car is nearly here. Once we get home, you are free to do whatever you would like in your bedroom, away from our delicate sensibilities. I have no desire to see either of your dicks."

"Your loss," John says, and pushes his wet hair out of his face. It looks ridiculous. And really, stupidly hot.

Before he can act on the impulse that inspires, Mulligan grabs his arm and swings him around.

"Look, car's here, time to go," he says, and pulls open the back seat of the SUV that's pulled up, before shoving Alex unceremoniously inside and climbing in after him.

"You're strong," John says to Lafayette as he gets a similar treatment. "Before, when you--" He mimes Lafayette carrying him out of the bar.

"And you are drunk," Lafayette says, closing the door to the backseat. He climbs into the front after, and shoots them a stern look over his shoulder.

"Ten minutes," Lafayette says. "Please. Have some self-control."

"No promises," Alex says.

The ten minutes in the car does help them get a handle on their hormones. They manage to make it all the way up to the hallway outside of their apartment before they're on top of each other again, kissing and trying to shove clothing out of the way and stumbling into their bedroom, the door slamming shut behind them.

Alex is more or less sober by the time they finish, transitioning from the fevered lust that's left the sheets half off the bed and everything that was on the nightstand scattered across the floor into something more tender. Lying on the bed, staring at each other--John is already half asleep, his hair comically ruffled into a tangled, frizzy mess. Alex watches the rise and fall of his back as he blinks sleepily, smiling with a kind of openness that Alex only ever sees directed at himself.

Fuck, but he really likes John.

He strokes John's bare shoulder, letting his fingers drift all the way down to his elbow and then back up.

"I can't believe you were going to kick that guy's ass for me," he says.

"He shouldn't fucking talk about anyone like that," John says, his forehead creasing in a frown. "But especially not you. I couldn't let him get away with that bullshit. Not that I, you know, think you can't handle yourself."

"No, I know," Alex says. "I told you, it was hot, not condescending. I thought my dick made that pretty clear."

John laughs, low and dirty, the crease between his eyes melting away. "Dunno if I'm gonna be able to sit down tomorrow. I mean, I'm not complaining."

"I was a little overzealous."

"You were just the right amount of zealous, in case you missed the part where I was heckling you into going faster and harder," John says, and it's Alex's turn to laugh.

"I should take out my contacts and brush my teeth," he says, but makes no move to leave the bed. 

"Mm, it can wait," John says, and even as he blinks back another yawn, his hand slips under the covers and is about to make a pretty good case for round two when there's a sharp knock at the door. 

"Are you done fucking, at least for now?" Herc calls from the hallway.

"For the moment," Alex allows. If Herc had knocked two minutes later, he would probably have gotten a different answer.

"We're gettin' celebratory pancakes," Herc says. "If your dicks wanna hit the pause button, feel free to join us. But I'm serious about the pause button. No handies in the booth or the back of the car. I mean, it's Lafayette's car, so I don't care that much, but--"

Lafayette shouts something at Hercules that's too muffled by the door and the television that's still blaring for Alex to catch. He can make a good enough guess from the way Hercules laughs in response.

"I think we're gonna--" Alex starts to say, but before he can tell Hercules they're going to pass, John is sitting up and looking around the mess they've left for his boxers.

"Give us like, five minutes," he shouts. 

Round two postponed, then.

"You're fucking falling asleep, dumbass," Alex says, rolling out of bed and wincing as his body reminds him that it's covered in lube and all manner of bodily fluids.

"Yeah, but pancakes." John grins up at Alex with all the excitement of a kid on his birthday. 

That look twists Alex up inside and he's not sure why. He sighs dramatically and goes over to the dresser to pull out clean underwear and a shirt. John, either giving up on finding his boxers or remembering that they're probably far from clean at this point, jumps up to do the same. His hair really is a riot--Alex pulls a condom wrapper out of it once he gets close enough, and John doesn't even look embarrassed.

"That's your fault!" he tells Alex. "You're the one who messes it all up all the time. D'you know how hard it is to get curly hair to do what you want? Then you come along and stick your hands and whatever else in it--"

"'Whatever else?'" Alex asks. "We're not brimping here, asshole."

"You," John says, turning to face him and poking his chest, "destroy what, like, hours of air-drying and specially formulated shampoo help fight into some semblance of order."

"It's so soft, though." Alex grins as he slides his fingers into John's hair again. Because it is. Really soft. And John makes the _best_ sounds when Alex pulls his hair--

John takes Alex's wrists and pulls his hands back, pulls him closer into John's personal space.

"Pan. Cakes," he says gravely before releasing Alex. He shakes his hair out, then immediately pulls a t-shirt over his head. "Let's go."

Alex gets dressed, pouting and grouchy, and they stumble out of the bedroom looking slightly less fucked out than they probably did stumbling into it.

"Where are we even going to get pancakes?" he asks. "It's almost two am, and it's not like we live in the city."

"Oh, right," John says. He fishes a hair tie off of the end table and starts to twist his mess of hair back. "You're new."

"Diner," Mulligan says.

"It's some weird Jersey thing," John says.

"It's a perfectly fucking normal thing, thank you very much," Mulligan says. "Real diners are open 24/7. Everyone knows that."

"The Alexis closes at two," John says.

"The Alexis isn't a fucking real diner then, is it?" Mulligan says.

"It's a goddamn diner! It's called the Alexis Diner! It closes at two!"

"Real diners don't close, Laurens. It's a fucking fact."

"The Brookside Diner! The Whippany Diner!" John says. "That little dinky one on 46 in Mountain Lakes where we tried to stop for coffee that night!"

"None of 'em are real diners," Mulligan says. "I don't care if they fucking look the part, a real diner is open twenty-four fucking hours a day."

Alex considers reassessing his sobriety.

"This is some strange New Jersey thing," Lafayette whispers to him, loud enough for the others to hear. "Mulligan is adamant that it's true. Laurens enjoys bothering him about it."

"Laurens is an asshole," Mulligan says.

"Never said I wasn't," John says. He grabs Alex's hand and tugs him in the direction of the door. "Pancakes.”

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Alex says. He lets himself be pulled out the door with Herc and Laf close behind him. 

"You've gotta be initiated into late night Jersey diner-ing," Herc says. "It's a Thing."

Alex can hear the capital letter.

"I'd say it's kind of _our_ thing, but it seems like everyone does it," John admits. With one final tug, he pulls Alex close and then settles into holding his hand instead of dragging him. He hits the down button on the elevator as they come to a stop outside of it.

"It's still our thing," Herc says. "It's a damn shame you haven't been a part of it yet, Ham."

"An oversight on our part due to too many nights studying," Laf says, nodding.

The elevator dings and the door slides open and the four of them pile inside. John and Herc are already arguing again, something about pancakes versus waffles versus milkshakes. John keeps gesturing at Herc with their clasped hands, tugging Alex closer and closer with each shake. Laf is watching the two of them with crossed arms, occasionally throwing in a comment, all of them vaguely insulting, no matter whom they're aimed at. 

Alex watches it all, continues to watch it as they file out of the elevator and continue towards the parking lot, still talking and shoving each other, John's fingers still interlocked with his own. It makes something in his chest ache, low and warm and _good_ , some kind of happiness that feels like a warm sweater or a hot drink on a cold morning.

"What do you think, Ham?" Herc asks, and Alex has to blink, trying to figure out what the question was.

"Don't ask him, you're just asking him to turn him against me, and anyway, he doesn't know, he hasn't been there yet," John says. He pulls Alex closer again. "You're such a bag of dicks."

"Your mom's a bag of dicks," Herc says.

"My _dad's_ a bag of dicks," John corrects. And then they're off again, Alex's input forgotten. But John huddles close to his side and Laf throws an arm around his shoulder and Alex is tired and overwhelmed and hungry, but he also thinks he's never been happier. He's never felt less alone. And it's certainly a feeling he could get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to anyone who caught the vague reference to some of my favorite [trash of the thing](http://fourteenacross.tumblr.com/post/146168741761/wow-gosh-what-a-great-con-im-at-lga-on-my-way) at the end there. (Also, I made those shirts for the whole family and [TL wore hers for the first day of school](https://twitter.com/kellysue/status/770255627914313728) and I have literally never been prouder of someone else's child :') )


	6. Chapter Five: Business Opportunities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets a new job, buys a bike, and starts the world's saddest club. 
> 
> John gets two new jobs, takes some photos, and is definitively _not_ the mom!friend. 
> 
> Lafayette learns about Craigslist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to everyone reading and commenting. I'll get caught up on comments soon, I swear. And I super appreciate people telling their friends to read, too ♥ You're all so great ♥ ♥ ♥

The Further Frog is quiet on Wednesday night, or as quiet as it ever is, at least. There's trivia going on in the front room--something pop-culture specific with an in-joke name that sailed right over Alex's head when they walked in--and a group of people playing pool in the back, but otherwise the crowd is made up of people sitting at booths and talking in low voices. Alex, John, and Lafayette walk past all of them as they make their way to the very back booth where Mulligan is waiting for them.

Herc had texted them all on Tuesday asking to meet with them, then texted again an hour later to reschedule. It was an odd move--usually when one of them can't make it out to the bar, it's understood that they'll catch the rest next time, no specific rescheduling required.

Alex isn't totally surprised, then, to see that Mulligan has placed dark blue file folders at each of their places at the table and has a beat-up iPad in front of him.

"Yo," he says once they reach the table. 

"What's all this?" Alex asks. John immediately slides down the empty side of the booth and starts going through the folder. Alex follows, leaving Lafayette to sit next to Mulligan.

"I have a proposition," Mulligan says. 

"Hmmm," says John. "I'm into it."

"Yeah, well, stop fucking reading ahead, and let me tell you about it, asshole," Herc says. He reaches over and smacks the cover of John's folder closed.

John just rolls his eyes. "Go on, then."

"I will," Herc says, shaking his head. "So, you all passed certification with flying colors, like I knew you would. You've got a two year probationary period during which you can only do IP work if you have a sponsor."

"Yes, we are aware of how our profession operates," Lafayette says. 

Herc turns his glare from John to Lafayette. "I made a whole fucking presentation for you shitheads," Herc says. "Shut up and listen to it for five minutes before you start mouthing off at me."

Lafayette lazily gestures for him to continue.

"You're all fucking assholes," Herc says.

"We know that," Alex says. "Come on." He has a fair idea of what Herc is proposing, but he's not about to interrupt after seeing John and Lafayette get their heads bitten off.

"Fucking whatever," Herc says. "Washington loves you, he thinks you're all geniuses for some reason, and he won't hesitate to sponsor you."

"He already told us as much," Alex says before he can stop himself, but Herc just glares at him.

"But you're all infants, so you can't apply for a permit," he continues. 

Alex objects to being called an infant, but Herc is, unfortunately, correct. Due to some kind of fucking draconian guideline, IP permits aren't issued to anyone under twenty-five. Lafayette just turned twenty-three, and John'll be twenty-three at the end of October, but that's still a long way to a permit to run their own investigations.

"But you're not," John says. 

"I'm not," Herc agrees. He taps the folder, and Alex opens his quickly. "There's a proposal for a freelance investigative parapsychology business, an operating budget, a pay scale, and a schedule. I'll put up the start-up cash, and we can use the equipment I already have in the shop to start. Washington'll probably let us use the shit in the lab, too, as long as we take care of it."

Alex skims the papers, but he knows Herc well enough by now to know that this is all meticulously planned out. Herc may act laid back and disinterested, but he's always paying attention, always noting his surroundings, and always calculating how to best use a situation to his advantage. Alex has spent his whole life living like that--he can recognize it in other people.

"Do you have clients set up already?" Alex asks. "Or an advertising plan?"

"I have some ideas," Herc says. "But, before we have to use them, I thought one of you geniuses could talk to GWash about it." He elbows Lafayette. "Probably you since you're practically George Washington Junior. I know he gets a lot of personal requests for investigations that he farms out or turns down because he's so busy--I bet he'd farm 'em out to us to start. And if enough people hear that George Fucking Washington is sending us out on cases--"

"--then the calls'll start coming in on their own," John says, nodding.

"Exactly," Herc says. He wakes up the iPad and taps a few things into it, then whirls it around and props it up so they can all see the screen. It's displaying a website--sleek, professional, welcoming, informative. Alex has browsed a hell of a lot of private IP websites in his years blogging as Athenodorus, and this is one of the nicer ones he's seen, certainly. "My cousin's a web designer, and he owes me a favor," Herc explains. "This is a mock-up."

"We'll need some more pictures," John murmurs. "Let me look on my harddrive when we get home, I'm sure I can find you some good shit I've taken."

"We should do headshots too," Lafayette says. "Neat, professional ones, maybe at the office. Laurens, can you handle that?"

"Yeah," John says, though he sighs and frowns. John, for some reason beyond Alex's understanding, is not a fan of having his picture taken.

"It'd be nice if we could have some endorsements," Herc says. "GWash, of course, but if, say, Athenodorus wanted to throw us some cred--" He looks at Alex expectantly. 

Alex considers it for one long second. "I'm not ready to come out yet," he says. "And it'll take people two seconds to backtrack to me if Athenodorus promotes our business. It's already gonna happen sooner rather than later--if I keep using John's pictures, someone's gonna make the connection to his Twitter and Athenodorus' 'J.' I'm still putting a plan in place for the unveiling, though, and I'd like to hold it off a little longer."

"Fine, fine," Mulligan says. "I had to ask. Von Steuben owes me a favor, and there are a couple people in New York I've worked with who will give me a quote."

"Great," Alex says, scrolling through the site one last time. "So you're gonna file for the permit?"

"I already did," Herc says. "It's approved. I just need you guys to go to the licensing board and get your probationary licenses, and we'll be all set." He smirks. "I had a good feeling you'd be into this. We can meet at the shop later this week and do an inventory of what I have on hand and start getting the paperwork and shit in order."

"Huh," John says. "Did we just...start a business at seven at night in the middle of the bar?"

Mulligan holds up his beer in salute. "Fuck yeah, we did."

They order a basket of wings and talk a little bit more about their plans. Alex is already bubbling over with ideas: how to structure their cases, how to divide their workload, how to advertise, how to design their documentation. The field work they did with Washington was amazing, but even then he was itching to take charge and go off in his own direction. There's so much good they could be doing out there, so many new investigative methods that he wants to try now that he's not doing everything by the IP exam book in order to pass a test. 

Sure, Alex came to Morristown to immerse himself in the academic side of parapsychology. He's going to get his PhD, he's going to experiment and read theory and write papers and try to change the direction of discourse. He's looking forward to conferences and presentations and being on the cutting edge of new studies and methods. But he's equally excited for the practical side of parapsychology. Lots of academics don't even go out into the field. Lots of them don't even bother with IP certification. Alex wants to live the reality of parapsych work every day. He wants to sit behind a desk in a lab by day and run around hauntings by night.

There's nothing about this field he doesn't love. He wants to experience every facet of it, and he's confident he can pull it off.

They return to the apartment at a fairly decent hour, early enough that Lafayette's girlfriend in Paris isn't awake yet, but late enough that he decides to turn in early rather than stay up to say hello. John is exhausted, too--he and Alex have been up since five to accommodate his six am library shift. He looks tired enough--squinting, yawning, rubbing his temple like he has a headache that won't quit--that Alex assumes he'll want to crawl into bed and pass out. Alex isn't quite that tired himself, but he has a lot of reading to do that can be done just as easily from bed. He brings in his stack of books and journals, drops them on the floor on his side of the bed, and proceeds to brush his teeth and take out his contacts and dress for bed.

John is still awake when he crawls under the blankets, though, curled on his side and looking at Alex with soft, sleepy eyes.

"Hey," he says. 

"Hi," Alex says.

"I love your dumb hipster glasses."

"I've noticed," Alex says. What John seems to love is staring at them, kissing Alex while he's wearing them, and then throwing them out of the way as things escalate from there.

"Come here," John says, and crooks a finger in the space between them.

"You're too tired for this to work out the way you want," Alex says, even as he wiggles closer, until they're nose-to-nose.

"Yeah." John runs his fingers up Alex's arm from his wrist to the sleeve of his t-shirt. His touch is barely there, so light that Alex can't help but shiver. "That's why I'm gonna make you do all the work."

Alex swallows hard. It's been a few weeks, and he's still shocked at how easy it is for John to play him. He may never have had a boyfriend before, but he's slept with some people he was crazy attracted to, and he's had a couple lingering crushes. He's never reacted like this to anyone: the instant, dizzying wave of lust and affection that twists in his stomach and makes his knees weak. All John has to do is look at him in a certain way and his heart speeds up and he gets hot all over and his dick starts paying attention. 

"Okay, I think I'm open to hearing this proposal," Alex manages to say, though his throat is dry and his blood is rushing past his ears.

John rolls onto his back. Before Alex can even miss the warmth of his body, he crooks a finger again, and Alex is moving before he even realizes it.

"Do you want me to...?" he asks, even as he's lifting his leg to straddle John's waist.

"Just like that," John agrees. He lifts his hands and settles them on Alex's hips, slipping them under Alex's clothes so he can rest his thumbs right on Alex's hip bones. His hands are hot against Alex's skin, his eyes half-lidded as he peers up from where he's still nestled in the pillows.

"What...what do you want me to do?" Alex asks. 

John shrugs. "I'm sure you'll come up with something. For starters, you're wearing a lot of clothes."

"So are you," Alex says, and John just raises his eyebrows.

"Then do something about it."

Alex does.

Alex knows he's not unattractive, and he's always had a solid choice of hook-ups, but he really thinks John might be the hottest person he's ever slept with by far. It might be because John is the person he's slept with the most, that he's formed an attachment that didn't exist in past sexual encounters. It might be because John knows him so well and likes him so much.

But, honestly, a lot of it has to do with John's body, which is...well. The evening routine where John goes to the gym to punch and jog out his aggression has done really fucking amazing things to his arms and his abs and his whole general...physique. Fuck. Riding John's cock, resting his hands on the muscles of John's chest to steady himself, and staring down at John's self-satisfied smirk, Alex can't help but think through a haze of red hot arousal that there's nowhere else he'd rather be, no one else he'd rather be with.

Exhausted and sweaty, he gets rid of the condom and wipes them both up once they're done. He fully expects John to be asleep by the time he gets back into bed, but he's still clinging to consciousness, blinking up at Alex.

"Love your dumb hipster glasses," John mumbles.

"So you've said. Within the past hour, even."

"Mm. Come here."

"We already did this part," Alex reminds him, but slips back under the covers and lets John use him as a human body pillow. John's normally not quite this clingy after sex, not if he knows Alex isn't planning on sleeping yet. And definitely not when he's this tired. "You okay, baby?"

"Tired," John says.

"Yeah, I got that part. That's why we're in bed. So you can sleep."

"'m always tired," he mumbles, rubbing his face against Alex's t-shirt.

"That's because you get up at fucking garbage o'clock in the morning to go to work at the library half of the week." Come to think of it, with John navigating early mornings for the library along with his classes and TAing and lab work and everything else, he's only going to get _more_ tired if they start doing freelance IP work.

"'m always tired when I feel this way," John says, the words barely more than a garbled whisper as his breathing evens out into sleep. He's still wrapped around Alex like an octopus, his hand clutching the material of Alex's t-shirt.

"Next time I'm recording this babbling to mock you with it in the morning," Alex says to the quiet of the bedroom. He manages to fish one arm over the side of the bed and grab a handful of journals, which he'll have to make due with for the moment. Once John falls further asleep he can get the rest, but for now he's loath to disturb him. He really does look tired, and a strange little part of Alex, deep in the heart of him, is going to be just a little anxious until John is rested and happy and back to normal.

It's possible that the attachment he's formed to John is more than just physical, but he'll examine that a little more closely once he's killed some of his to-be-read pile.

*

Alex spends breakfast on Thursday coming up with an impassioned speech for Washington about why he should sponsor their probationary IP licenses. He makes notecards. He steels himself for the conversation only to find Lafayette already in Washington's office when Alex and John get to the lab.

"Gilbert says you have sponsorship forms for me to sign?" Washington says without looking up from his notes.

"Uh," Alex says. This isn't in the notecards.

"We do," John says. He takes the manila folder with the printed out forms from Alex's lax fingers and hands it to Washington. Washington opens it, glances over the forms, and starts affixing his signature to them.

"Just fill in the rest of the information yourselves," he says. He turns in his seat enough to hand the folder back to John without looking up. "I trust you gentlemen."

"Thanks, sir," John says. Alex is still gaping.

"Thanks," he manages to say, and lets John pull him back out into the lab. "What just happened?"

"Did you really think he needed convincing?" John asks.

"We are doing him a favor," Lafayette says. "He gets so many requests for investigations and has to turn most of them down; now at least he can refer them to us and feel less guilty for being unable to help."

"I guess," Alex says.

"You're just pissed that you wasted two fucking hours writing a persuasive speech you didn't get to give," John says, tugging Alex's ponytail.

"Shut up," Alex says, elbowing him in the side rather than bothering to try and refute him.

Mulligan handles the administrivia while they're in classes and then shows up around dinner time wearing a shirt and a tie and carrying a thick folder of paperwork.

"We've got a lotta shit to fill out," he says. "We can do it while Laurens takes our pictures. Order a pizza or something--it's on me tonight."

John decides to take their photos sitting at their desks--or, sitting at Lafayette's desk, which is marginally cleaner than John's and Alex's. He positions them this way and that, moves the light boxes around to act as impromptu light sources, and snaps a series of photos of each of them with different expressions, different postures, doing different tasks. 

His own photo is a different story, however. He makes a vague comment about finding one on his computer, but Mulligan doesn't stand for it and before long, Dolley Payne has been roped into helping them out, and John's the one being prodded into position and posed for the camera.

"Hair up or down, d'you think?" Dolley asks, staring at John critically.

"Do a couple with both," Alex says. He likes John's hair down, but Alex's had been up for his photos, and maybe having his hair pulled back looks more professional.

"Good idea," Dolley says. John watches them with a vaguely mutinous expression. "Laurens, you've gotta smile, or at least look less like you wanna murder the people on the other side of the camera."

"This is stupid," John says. "I have pictures we can use. We're wasting your time."

"And every second you give me lip, you're wasting it longer," Dolley says. "Shut up and smile."

John sighs and shifts awkwardly, but comes no closer to a smile.

"Come on, you're acting like an infant," Dolley says.

"I'm trying!" John insists. "I'm trying to look professional."

"Not hard enough," Dolley says. 

"Come on, sweetie," Alex says. 

John's expression screws up even more. " _Sweetie_?"

"Alright, come on, shithead," Alex says instead, and John does smile for just a split second on the way to bursting out laughing. Quick as anything, Dolley snaps a bunch of photos.

"Like those are any more professional than the scowling ones," John says.

"No, those are just because you looked cute, and I thought Ham might like to have them," she says.

"Why?" John asks.

"Uh, because he's your boyfriend?" she says.

"You might have more experience with this dating shit than I do, but I'm pretty sure one of the prerequisites is liking your face and wanting to look at it more," Alex says. 

John flips him off. "Fuck off, Hamilton," he says.

"Take a fucking compliment, Laurens," Alex shoots back.

"Both of you shut the fuck up so we can take these pictures and I can move on with my life," Dolley says.

Dolley manages to get a few good shots of John where he's not pouting or shifting uncomfortably in his seat. She sends them all to Herc, then sends the pictures of John laughing to Alex separately.

"You're really gonna hold on to those?" John asks quietly later that evening, when Alex is checking his email at his desk before they head home for the night.

"Of course I am," Alex says. "I have like, no pictures of you because you duck and run every time someone takes out a camera. You don't even have a Facebook."

"What do you need a picture for?" Lafayette calls over. "Have you two ever been apart for more than the length of a breath?"

"Fuck off, Lafayette," John says absently.

"And don't act like you don't hoard pictures of me," Alex continues. "I see how many you take, and like, one out of every five ends up on Twitter."

"Whatever," John says. 

"In fact," Alex says, seized by inspiration, "I'm gonna look at one of them all the time."

He slips his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, navigating straight to his mail. It only takes John a second to realize what's happening, and he groans once he does. He doesn't do anything to stop it, though, so a few swipes later, Alex's favorite of the pictures is his new lock screen. He displays it smugly.

"You're such a shithead," John mutters. He might be blushing.

Before Alex can call him on the blush, Washington emerges from his office, staring down at a tablet.

"Gentlemen," he says, "how long until you're legal to take cases?" 

Alex and John glance and each other, then Lafayette, then Herc.

"Tomorrow, soon as I file the paperwork," Herc says.

"Then I'm going to forward you a request, Mulligan. If you're not interested, let me know, and I'll pass it on to Von Steuben."

"Anything interesting?" Alex asks.

"It has the potential to be more than old pipes," Washington says. He taps his tablet a few times and then looks up at them again. "As I said when you started here, you can check out any equipment you'd like, but if anything happens to it, it's on you to replace it." He looks at each of them in turn with something resembling a small smile fighting its way onto his face. It's almost like pride. "Good luck, gentlemen."

With that, Washington retreats back into his office. Herc pulls his iPad out of his bag and gestures for Laf and John and Alex to gather around him.

"Alright, boys," he says. "Looks like we're open for business. Let's see what we've got."

And just like that, Alex's concern about John's self-esteem gets brushed aside in favor of a new challenge, a new experience. Eight years of blogging extensively about the paranormal, studying out of books and off of websites and videos, and he's finally going out on his own to do the work he's dreamed about.

Or, well. Not on his own. He glances around at his friends and smiles absently before leaning closer to Herc's tablet. Not on his own. And, much to his surprise, that's maybe the best part of it.

* * *

Alex somehow manages to go nearly a month mooching rides off of John before their schedules come into direct conflict. A lecture he wants to cover for the blog is scheduled for early on a Wednesday morning, early enough that John will still be working at the library when it starts. It's at the county library, and while he could Uber or call a cab there and back, it's probably best to treat the problem, not the symptom. 

He RSVPs to the lecture, then opens Craigslist in the next tab and starts looking for bikes. He ends up with half a dozen solid leads and sends out emails and texts as required. If he gets at least a few bites back while he's in class, he can schedule a bunch around the same time and ask John to drive him around Morris County with the promise of--well. Come to think of it, he gives everything to John so freely, including his body, that he really doesn't have much to offer. Of course, it's a two way street--there hasn't been anything that Alex has asked for that John has refused him. Not yet, at least.

"Hey, can you take me to look at a couple bikes from Craigslist in a little bit?" he asks John after class as he slouches into the lab, sending off quick responses to the three sellers who returned his emails and texts.

"Nope," John says.

Well. There's a first time for everything, it seems.

Alex looks up from his phone with wide eyes and notices, for the first time, that John is decked out in a lab coat and goggles and rubber gloves. He's working under the hood on one of the chem benches, squinting at something in a textbook, an array of liquids and powders spread out in front of him.

"I've got to finish this stupid fucking formula," John continues. "I meant to do it after my library shift, but I fell asleep on the couch in the office."

Alex knows that. Alex maybe helped facilitate that nap by curling up with John to "work" when it was clear he could barely keep his eyes open. Something kept him up half the night; he went into bed at his normal time, but he was still tossing and turning when Alex came to bed a few hours later, and he was up long before Alex's alarm went off. He really needed the nap. But maybe Alex should have taken a peek at his schedule before doing everything short of putting a tranquilizer in John's coffee to get him to close his eyes for a moment.

"How much longer is it going to take?" Alex asks. He was hoping to leave within the half hour, but he can stretch that out a little longer, maybe.

"Long enough." John sighs and glances up from the lab table. "Sorry, that's rude. I'm just tired."

"I know," Alex says. He walks over to lean against the bench, careful not to get too close to whatever it is John is mixing. "It's fine."

"It'll be a while yet," John elaborates. "And then I'm gonna want to take a shower to get all this chemical shit off of me. I just can't do it this afternoon."

"It's okay. You're not my personal servant, you don't need to drop everything to do things for me. It's just sort of time sensitive."

"You could ask Lafayette. Or you could wait until tomorrow."

"They could be gone by tomorrow," Alex says. "Babe, I've really gotta teach you in the ins and outs of Craigslist." 

John flips him off and leans over the lab table again. 

"Ask Laf," he says. "Leave me alone."

"Fine, fine," Alex mutters. 

Lafayette isn't in the lab and, embarrassingly, Alex can't say he knows enough about Laf's habits to know where he might be. He pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text.

_Hey, weird question: I need to go look at some bikes from Craigslist today. It's time sensitive and John is busy. Is there any chance you're around?_

John drives him everywhere all the time without flinching and, maybe it's just that Alex is an asshole, but he's never really thought to offer compensation, glib thoughts earlier this morning aside. He just assumes that John will drive him places and, if he can't, he'll say no. Today's a fine example. And, as long as he gets a bike today, when John says no in the future he'll be able to get himself around on his own power.

Lafayette's not really his personal chauffeur, though. And they're friends, they're great friends--Lafayette is probably the second best friend that Alex has ever had--but weirdly he feels like they don't necessarily know each other very well. It's dumb to compare anyone to John, with whom Alex spends nearly literally all his time, but there's definitely a comfort there that Lafayette hasn't reached yet.

So, before Lafayette can respond, he adds, _I'll buy you a bottle of wine._

A few moments pass before the three dots of response start blinking across Alex's screen.

_I don't want your wine, you like awful wine. But I can take you in about twenty minutes._

_Great!_ Alex sends back, practically before he finishes reading Lafayette's message. _Thank you!!_ he adds, including an extra exclamation point to show just how grateful he is. 

_I'll meet you in the parapsych lot by my car,_ Lafayette tells him. _@+_

"Lafayette's gonna take me," Alex tells John, who hums absently as he very carefully measures silver nitrate. "I'm gonna go to the ATM to get cash and then meet him out by his car."

"Have fun," John murmurs, and glances up long enough for a kiss as Alex grabs his bag and heads out.

Twenty minutes later, Alex straps himself into Lafayette's car, his bike helmet and bag in the backseat.

"Where are we going?" Lafayette asks. Alex rattles off the address for Laf to put in the GPS and settles back as he starts to navigate out of the parking lot. "So we are going to pick up your bike?"

"Well," Alex says. "We're going to look at a bike. And if it's in as good condition as the guy says it is and he accepts my price, I'll buy it off him and I can bike home. If it's not, then I've got two other people on the list to hit up today."

"So you don't know if you even want this bike yet?" Lafayette glances over at him, both eyebrows raised. It's not as effective as when John does it--John can raise just one eyebrow at a time and it's really sexier than it has any right to be.

"I mean, if it's as good as the pictures make it out to be, then yeah, I want it," Alex says. "But people aren't always a hundred percent truthful on Craigslist. Plus, there's a chance that someone else might get there before I do and buy it before we even get there. Don't you have Craigslist in France? Actually--fuck that, you went to Brown! I know they have Craigslist in Rhode Island."

"I never needed to acquaint myself with it," Lafayette admits. "I'm still not entirely sure of its purpose."

"Of course you didn't, you rich fuck," Alex says, rolling his eyes. "It's like...online classified ads. You know what those are, right?"

The flat look Lafayette gives him answers that question.

"Right," Alex continues. "So, it's like online classified ads for jobs and personal ads and housing and buying and selling shit. Good stuff goes fast, though--people are always trawling it for deals. If you want something good quality, you have to act fast. There's no guarantee. If I go in and offer $150 for this bike and a dude comes along and offers $200, the guy can sell it to the other dude instead. There's no like, legally binding agreement."

"Hm," Lafayette says, though he still doesn't seem to completely grasp the nuance of it all.

"Jesus, you and Laurens both, you poor little rich boys," Alex says. "I gotta make it a point to give you Craigslist bargain hunting lessons, just in case you end up on the outs with your rich family too."

"Well," Lafayette says wryly. "That's unlikely. My parents are both dead--I came into my inheritance when I was eleven, and there is no one to fight for it."

Alex goes from haughty to mortified so quickly he almost gets whiplash.

"Oh, shit," Alex says. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't know."

Laf shrugs, but Alex can read the discomfort in his posture. "You didn't know. It was many years ago, now. I miss them, but I've been without them longer than I knew them."

That doesn't actually make it much better.

"Well, shit," Alex says. "The Dead Moms Club is a pretty terrible thing to have in common. You, me, and John, I mean. At least you missed out on the Asshole Dads Club, although you arguably came out even worse in the end."

"I don't remember them as well as I'd like," Lafayette admits quietly. "There was an accident. I don't remember it. Not the accident, not going to the hospital. I remember life before and then--after. I went to live with Adrienne and her family. I had an uncle, the one George and Martha know, who was living here in the states, but emigrating on top of losing my parents was too much, they all thought. It worked out for the best, I think. I was happy living with the Noailleses; Adrienne's parents treated me as their own son, and it gave me time to adjust and work on perfecting my English before university."

For some reason, Alex has always found talking about his mother and father to be the hardest part of his past. He's very careful about who he tells his whole story to--he doesn't want pity or sympathy or special treatment--but he can talk about it when given the chance, no problem. When it comes to his parents, the feelings are harder to articulate. He hasn't even told John all the details--John, who is so easy to talk to, even easier than talking usually is for Alex.

It's Lafayette, though. He trusts Laf, and Laf obviously trusts him.

"My dad took off when I was ten. When I was twelve my mom and I both got really sick," Alex says, watching the suburban streets through the window. "There was this fever that was going around my school and at first we thought that was what it was, a few days of puking and then back to normal. But after four or five days it was clear it was getting worse. I don't remember a lot of what happened. I was delirious by that point, I think. My mother's boss, my future foster father, came to check on us and brought us to the hospital when he saw how bad it had gotten. My mom came and sat in my room, and I had this like, moment of lucidity when I wasn't hallucinating and out of my mind, and she told me everything was going to be alright. Then, the next thing I remember, three or four days later, is waking up and the doctors telling me that I was going to be okay, but that my mom had died while I was unconscious."

The two of them are quiet. Oxmo Puccino is quietly playing from the speakers, interspersed with the GPS calling out approaching turns, but Alex and Lafayette don't speak.

"I don't know," Lafayette finally says softly, "if I would rather remember or have this hole in my memory. I have been told that the brain protects itself, that I've probably forgotten because it's too traumatic to remember. But."

"Yeah," Alex says. "Well, as someone who does sort of remember, let me tell you, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

Lafayette hums in acknowledgement.

"John's mom died too, you know," Alex adds. "I probably shouldn't have told you that. I probably should have let him--"

"He has implied as much without stating it outright," Lafayette says before Alex can go on.

"Well, that's certainly his style," Alex says. He's gonna train John into just saying what he fucking wants to say one of these days. "So, yeah. Dead Moms Club."

"If nothing else," Lafayette says, "I appreciate having friends who understand."

"Yeah," Alex says. "It's kind of a relief."

Two turns later and they're slowly approaching their destination. There's a guy standing in his driveway next to the bike Alex recognizes from Craigslist, and Alex directs Lafayette over to that side of the street and jumps out to introduce himself.

The bike is in as good condition as the posting implied, but the guy is adamant about the price.

"I could buy a new one for that much!" Alex says.

"That's the point!" the guy says. "This one is basically new!"

They argue back and forth for about five minutes before Alex trudges back to the car, where Lafayette is waiting.

"Was it not up to your standards?" he asks.

"No," Alex says. "The dude was asking $275 for it and wouldn't back down."

"Do you need to borrow some money?" Lafayette asks.

"No!" Alex says it perhaps a little more sharply than he intended. "It's not about having the money," he adds more gently off the look on Lafayette's face. "It's that the stupid thing isn't worth that much. He's trying to sell me a used $300 bike for $275. There are better prospects. Time for appointment number two."

He programs the next address into the GPS as Lafayette turns them around towards the main road.

"So," he says, "you headed over to the US eventually for school. Did you already know the Washingtons when you showed up?"

"No, no," Lafayette says. "My uncle was busy--off to the UK for some fellowship or another. He left me with George and Martha's information and the keys to his house in Sleepy Hollow. George and Martha picked me up at the airport as a favor to him and, upon seeing how overwhelmed I was at the prospect of living alone in a new country, offered to let me stay with them until I started school in the fall. I was resistant at first, but Martha insisted, and it ended up working out for the best, I think."

"Sounds like Mrs. W," Alex says. 

"Her children had been out of the house for a year or two at that point," Lafayette says. "I think she was lonely. Back then, before I knew him, I was as in awe of George as any young parapsych student. I was so shocked and pleased to be getting to know him that there wasn't time for it to be awkward, and by the time that wore off, we were already nearly family, and it didn't matter any longer."

Something not unlike envy curls in Alex's stomach. While he missed his mother and, to lesser degree, his brother and father, he was never able to find a replacement family that fit him. The Stevens family was kind enough--Ned was a good friend, Mr. Stevens was an excellent mentor, and Mrs. Stevens never made him feel like he didn't belong--but he always knew he wasn't a part of the family. At Columbia, he was on his own more often than not. He sees how Lafayette is with the Washingtons, how they look out for him, how fondly they gaze at him. He's never had that. And, as he's an adult now, it's unlikely to happen in the future.

Alex is fine on his own--he's never needed anyone--but sometimes, occasionally, he finds himself wanting those sort of connections.

"I can't believe they let you into Washington's lab," Alex says instead of voicing any of that. "That's gotta be like, ten kinds of conflict of interest."

Lafayette waves a hand dismissively, not even looking away from the road.

"I'm not technically his family," he says. "Our prior relationship was disclosed to the dean, and he saw no problem with it, so long as George was not planning to give and I was not planning to seek special treatment. It was slightly more complicated when I was planning to live with the Washingtons, but even that paperwork seemed like nothing but a formality."

"You were gonna live with them?" Alex asks, though it makes sense. From what Laf's told him, it wouldn't be the first time.

" _Oui_ ," Lafayette says. "I was accepted in April and thought there wouldn't be enough time to find an apartment. It seemed easier to stay with the Washingtons at first. Then, of course, I did find an apartment, but considered staying with them anyway." He hesitates, a moment of silence that stretches out into two, three, four. "I don't like living on my own," he finally concludes.

He pulls the car to a stop as the GPS voice chirps that they've arrived at their destination. Alex mulls over that confession as he unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the car to look at bike number two. He has to ring the doorbell twice to get a response, and the guy who answers the door looks like he just woke up.

"Yeah?" he says.

"I'm here about the bike?" Alex says. "I'm Alex--I called you off Craigslist?"

"Oh, right," the guy says. "Sorry, dude, I sold it about half an hour ago."

"And you couldn't have texted me to tell me not to bother to come?"

The guy shrugs. "Sorry," he says again, and then closes the door.

Another dead end, then.

He trudges back to the car and flops into his seat.

"Is this the wrong house?" Lafayette asks.

"No," Alex mutters as he jams the seatbelt together, "the asshole sold the bike and didn't bother to tell me not to come by."

Lafayette glares out the windshield and up at the house. "Rude."

"Yeah," Alex says. "But not totally surprising. Last stop. Cross your fingers--I don't want to waste another afternoon doing this."

Lafayette loops the car around, pulling into a random driveway and then backing out so he's facing the right direction. There's still French hip-hop playing quietly in the background, interspersed with the GPS directions, and he hums along as they head towards their final stop.

"How did you get around in New York?" he asks Alex after merging into traffic. "Was it just public transit, or did you have a bike there as well?"

"I had a bike, yeah," Alex says. "I sold it when I moved out here--it seemed easier to sell it and buy something new then figure out how to get it out here on NJ Transit, you know? Plus, I figured if it was living on campus, like I thought I would be, I wouldn't need it immediately anyway. Which--I mean, I know I've said it before, but thanks again for inviting me to come live with you guys. You don't know how much I appreciate it." He tries to come up with a way to describe it without digging too deep into his own issues and insecurities, how to explain it in a way that makes sense without unloading his backstory. "I can live alone. I lived alone at Columbia. But it's been a long time since I had people to rely on, and I'd forgotten how much better that makes things."

"I'm happy to have you," Lafayette says. "As I said, I don't like living alone. And you--" He stops again, frowning. Alex can't tell if he's trying to figure out what to say or if the exact English phrasing he wants is eluding him. "You make John happy," is what he says, eventually. 

Alex starts to flush. "Yeah," he says slowly. "I mean--I know that was a gamble. I know it could have gone to shit if that crashed and burned."

"But it didn't," Lafayette says. "And that's not what I meant. Rather--I met Laurens in July. We were both at the Frog and were the only two to laugh at a particular joke the bartender made. After I made it clear I wasn't interested in his advances--" Of course John hit on Laf, Lafayette is hot as hell, but it still makes Alex's mind stumble for a moment. "--we became fast friends. But there was...he wasn't happy. He was...aggressive. Distant."

"Angry?" Alex offers, because he can see that--John's default expression of emotion is punching or shouting, as far as Alex can tell. He's trying to train him out of it.

"No, not exactly," Lafayette says. "A little angry. A little...sad. Something about him was heavier. And while I could tell he enjoyed my company and Herc's, and that Mrs. Washington helped a little, there was still something about him that didn't smooth out until he met you. It was good, I think, for him to have someone as loud and brash as he is, but it's more than that. He's...happy now."

John does seem happy. He certainly laughs and smiles enough, and Alex would know--he's deeply, embarrassingly enamored of both of those things and can't help but keep absent track of all of John's grins and each type of laugh he lets loose. John seems happy when they're lying in bed, staring at each other dopily and when they're working together in the lab and when they're drinking and telling stupid stories at the bar. John seems happy when they're walking down the sidewalk and Alex takes his hand, or vice-versa.

Alex is happy too, now that he pauses to think about it. It's not something he would have taken stock of on his own. His happiness has never been of any particular importance, especially not compared to things like his productivity and his stamina.

"I'm happy too," he murmurs, glancing down at his hands and picking at the thin scab left behind by a papercut, anything to keep from looking up at Lafayette again, at least until this moment of tender affection passes and the stupid smile falls off his face. "I'm happy he's happy. I--it means a lot to me."

"I've gathered," Lafayette says, teasing but not unkind. "Don't be embarrassed by it--I'm happy he is happy as well. I'm happy you're all happy." He slows to a stop at a red light and drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. "I've never had close friends before." He glances over at Alex with a wry smile. "In Paris, after my parents, it was hard to trust anyone. There were plenty of kids who wanted to be my friend because of my inheritance. I always felt slightly out of place at Brown as well--I made friends, but it was hard to open up to them. I never felt the connection that I immediately felt with Hercules, that I could stay up all night talking with him and not run out of things to say. I felt the same way with John and then with you as well."

"I feel the same way," Alex admits. "I never imagined that I could be around the same people all day, every day, and not get bored of them. Like--to go to classes with you and John and work with you and then decide, at the end of the day, to go out and get a drink with you too?"

The more he thinks about it, the stranger it is. One of the driving forces behind leaving the island was his desire to meet new people, to go out into the world and see more than the same ten faces every day. Strange, then, that with all of the New York metro area at his fingertips, Alex has chosen to cling to the same three people, to spend all his time in the same bubble of friendship. There's nothing wrong with it, exactly, and acknowledging it hasn't instilled him with the need to go out and make new friends, but he can't help but take note of it.

"Exactly," Lafayette says. "Which is all to say, I care about all of you. I'm happy when you're happy. I'm glad you have been able to bring some joy into John's life."

"I care about you too," Alex says, and it's a little bit of a revelation.

Lafayette pulls up alongside the yard of house number three and cuts the engine, then turns to Alex and nudges his shoulder. "Go get your bike."

"We'll see if it's mine," Alex replies, but he grins and does as he's told, unbuckling and slipping out of the car.

When he rings the doorbell on the house, a woman a little older than he is answers after only a few moments. She's wearing skinny jeans and a too big t-shirt with a dinosaur on it, her hair swept back into a messy ponytail.

"Alexander," she says, pointing at him. "About the bike, right?"

This is already several times better than his last two attempts.

"Yep," he says, and offers her his hand. 

She shakes it firmly. "Gillian. Let's go take a look at it and see what you think."

The bike is in good condition--used, but well maintained. Gillian even encourages him to give it a spin around the neighborhood to make sure he likes the feel of it.

"Okay," he says when he rides back up to her. "I'll take it."

Even the price negotiation goes smoothly, and she throws in a light and a bike lock. It's like a reward for spending the afternoon driving around town, even if it ended up being much more interesting than he assumed it would be. He needs to make a point to spend more time with Lafayette one-on-one.

Gillian heads back inside once money has changed hands, and Alex walks the bike to the sidewalk next to Lafayette's car. He nudges out the kickstand before opening the backseat of the car to fish out his bag and helmet.

"I assume that went well, then?" Lafayette asks, leaning back from the front seat.

"Yup," Alex says. "I'll ride it home. Thanks for driving me all over the place today, man."

"I enjoyed it," Lafayette says. "We should do it again sometime--perhaps without the driving."

"So, we should sit around and talk sometime, is what you're saying," Alex says, and Lafayette flips him off.

"Herc texted while you were getting the bike." Lafayette grabs Alex's phone from the front seat and passes it back to him. "He's headed to the Frog and asked if we wanted to get a drink."

"Sure," Alex says. He spent about $75 less on the bike than he budgeted for. "I'll ride home, get John, and we'll meet you there?"

"I'll pass that information on," Lafayette says. "Travel safely."

"Will do," Alex says. "See you later!"

He shuts the door and takes a moment to secure his helmet and get his shit together while Lafayette turns the car back on and loops around back to the main road. Then he hops on his new bike, adjusts his bag, and heads towards home.

The trip home is, maybe, a longer and busier ride than he should have attempted after spending a month being driven everywhere. He's exhausted and sweaty when he gets back to the apartment, still panting a little as he drops his bag on the ground and immediately kicks off his shoes and strips off his t-shirt.

"John?" he calls out. "I'm back. Herc's heading over to the Frog, and I told Laf to tell him we'd meet him there. I'm gonna take a quick shower!"

He hears something muffled from their bedroom in response as he makes his way to the bathroom but puts it out of his mind in favor of turning on the bathroom fan and then the shower. He tries to move as quickly as he can, long hair be damned, because he knows how twitchy John gets about any perceived lateness. He's not positive, but he has a good idea that's probably yet another of John's idiosyncrasies that stems from his mysterious childhood issues with his shitty father. Sure, they don't have a firm time they're supposed to be meeting their friends, but better to move quickly than to dawdle.

John's not waiting in the living room impatiently when Alex gets out of the shower, though. And, even more strangely, when Alex goes into their bedroom, he hasn't even started to get ready. He's curled up on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, closed sketchbook lying on the bed next to him.

"Are you okay, babe?" Alex asks, discarding the joke about John's usual punctuality that had been on his lips.

"Hm?" John asks. He glances up at Alex, his gaze still far off and unfocused. 

A wave of nervous concern washes through Alex, who grabs a pair of boxers off of the top of their dresser, discards his towel, and pulls them on, all without looking away from John. He sits on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on John's forehead, not that he thinks he could feel a fever even if John was running one.

"Are you sick?" Alex asks, and John seems to slip back into himself little by little. He blinks a few times, more aware with each flutter of his eyelids.

"I'm fine," John says. "I'm sorry, I totally zoned for a minute. Did you say we're going out with Herc?"

"Yeah, like, fifteen minutes ago." Alex runs his fingers through John's hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," John says. "I'm fine."

"We don't have to go with them," Alex says. "I can text them and let them know we're staying home? They'll probably think we're fucking, but." He shrugs.

John manages a smile for that, at least, but he looks like he's considering Alex's offer.

"No," he says after a moment. "No, I shouldn't--we should go out and meet them. Just give me a minute to get my shit together. Sorry, I'm just--I'm really tired." He pushes himself up, shaking Alex's hand off in the process, and swings his legs off the bed. 

"Of course you're tired," Alex says. "I think _I_ slept more than you did last night."

John makes a vague noise of assent and stretches, his t-shirt riding up enough to be a distraction, Alex's eyes drifting down to his abs almost automatically.

But, no, they just decided to go out. He really, _really_ shouldn't push John back down onto the bed so he can rub his face against his stomach.

Alex concentrates on throwing on some clothes while John slips out of the bedroom, and they meet back up again in the living room. John still looks a little off--Alex is gonna have to mom him into bed at a decent hour tonight--but he smiles when he sees Alex. Alex smiles too, easy, uncomplicated, and he thinks again about the conversation he had with Lafayette in the car. He rests his hands on John's hips, standing close enough to see the flecks of green in his eyes.

"Hey," Alex says.

"Hi," John says, one corner of his smile climbing up slightly higher than the other.

"Are you happy?" Alex asks.

"With you?" John asks. "Of course. I've never known anyone like you, Alexander."

That wasn't exactly what Alex was asking, but he's too pleased to clarify.

"Me too," he says instead, and lets John rock forward and kiss him.

It's a quick, fleeting thing, John's lips up against his, one shared breath, and then it's over. John leans back and grabs his keys off the table by the door, then gestures for Alex to go first. It still makes Alex feel warm down to his toes.

"So, did you get a bike, then?" John asks as they leave the apartment.

"Oh, yeah!" Alex says. "Jesus, you'll never believe what our afternoon was like!"

So Alex tells him, of course, and they head downstairs to John's car and then out to meet their friends.

* * *

It's Monday morning, a week or two later, when Washington catches them on their way into the lab. For once, Alex is as tired as John--they were out late Sunday on a case that was lucrative but ultimately long and boring. They're both sluggish as they drag themselves into the lab, gulping down coffee and leaning against each other, and they almost crash into Washington when they push open the lab door.

"Laurens," Washington says. He looks pleasantly surprised. "And Hamilton," he adds as an afterthought, but it's John his attention is directed at. "I was just looking for you."

"I'm here," John says, raising a hand in greeting. "I'm not late for something, am I? I shouldn't be late, I checked my schedule this morning and I know I have that tutoring thing, but it's not until noon and I had only planned on working this morning, but it was my own stuff and--"

"Chill," Alex says, squeezing John's wrist with his free hand. John's maybe had too much coffee already.

"Fuck off," John says automatically, then squeezes his eyes shut in a wince as he realizes who they're standing in front of. "Sorry, sir."

"No need to apologize," Washington says. "You're not late for anything you had on your schedule. I have a meeting, and I'd like for you to accompany me."

"Uh, sure," John says. "Right now?"

"If you're not doing anything else."

"No, I was just going to get some reading done, but it can wait." He turns to Alex, already shrugging off his hoodie and his backpack. "Babe, can you...?"

"Yeah, sure," Alex says. He slings John's backpack over one shoulder and takes his hoodie and then pulls the coffee out of his hand. "You're already jittery as hell, dude."

John narrows his eyes. "I will actually murder you."

"Nah," Alex says. He kisses John's cheek. "You like my face too much." He walks backwards into the lab with a cheerful wave as John flips him off and then turns mulishly back to Washington. The door closes before Alex can hear Washington explain the meeting further, but it's probably a problem with a student. Alex has already been pulled into one of those over a kid in the section he TAs. An hour of entitled whining later, and Washington still only adjusted his grade by a quarter of a percent. Alex really doesn't envy John and almost feels bad about taking his coffee away.

Almost.

He has his own work to do--some quizzes to grade for Washington, and he wants to get started on his final paper for his Ethics seminar. It's not due for another six weeks, but he already has permission to go over the required ten pages "within reason," and there are some big ideas he wants to cover. Alex drops John's things off at his workstation and then sits down at his own to start outlining. 

He's still there when John and Washington return sometime later. He's not sure how long they’ve been gone, focused as he's been on his writing, but his coffee's cold and John's hands aren't shaking any longer when they come down on Alex's shoulders.

"Hey," John says, and Alex tips his head back to look up at him.

"Student meeting?" he asks, but he can already tell by the strange look on John's face that it was something else altogether. He twirls around in his seat as John sits in his own chair and then shoves himself off the desk so he rolls over to Alex. 

"Spill," Alex says.

"Soooo," John begins, "apparently Coleman couldn't take the pressure and dropped out over the weekend."

"Wait," Alex says. "Like, James Coleman? The guy in von Steuben's lab?"

"That's the one," John says. "Coleman claims von Steuben put too much pressure on him and was too difficult to work with. Washington seems pretty confident that Coleman's 76 on the IP certification exam has more to do with it and that von Steuben is eccentric but easy to get along with, as long as you do the shit you're supposed to be doing."

"'Eccentric' is one way to put it," Alex says. He'd heard plenty of rumors about von Steuben even before he started at Morristown. Brilliant, people said, but very, very strange.

"Yeah, well, I'm about to find out up close and personal," John says. Alex cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. That's not exactly an answer. "Washington wants me to take over TAing Coleman's section of von Steuben's 102 lab."

Alex's discordant, conflicting emotions are too hard to parse for a moment. On one hand, he's jealous that Washington went to John first. But right on the heels of that is pride, because he _knows_ John sometimes feels like Alex's sidekick thanks to Alex's seven years of high-profile blogging. Possibly surmounting _that_ is his concern that John is already stretched pretty thin TAing, GAing, freelancing, taking classes, working in the library, and his new tutoring work. It's John's life, and he can live it how he wants, but the circles under his eyes concern Alex. Alex has no problem running on four hours of sleep and endless coffee, but he's been doing it for years now, and he's used to it. John isn't, and while Alex is happy to pet his hair and force him to cat nap between classes, he'd rather John have actual fucking time to sleep in their bed.

What he ends up saying is, "I'm not sure if I should congratulate you or be concerned that you'll be sucked into von Steuben's lab."

"No need for concern," John assures him. "They'll have to pry my cold dead body from this lab. Washington picked me since I speak German, and apparently when von Steuben doesn't get along with his students or TAs, he tends to shout at them in German."

"I've heard that," Alex says, and pretends he doesn't feel just a little bit better about why John got chosen instead of him. "I heard he threw a chair once, too."

"I've heard a lot of things," John says. "I'm a little terrified to see how many of them are true. But mostly stoked to see how many of them are true, if I'm being honest."

"Heh."

"The trade-off," John continues, "is that if I do this favor for Washington, in addition to upping my stipend, I get to go on the immersive overnight with the undergrad IAP group."

Alex's jaw drops. "No fucking way." 

That fucking bombshell erases any serenity about John being chosen instead of him. The immersive overnight trip is the golden ticket of GA responsibilities for Washington. It's a two day, one night trip into the field with the third and fourth year undergrads in the International Association of Parapsychology on campus. The group stays at an old mansion near the graveyard in the national park. The house is full of residual energy, and the experience is supposed to be amazing. Alex's whole body tingles with jealousy.

"Sorry," John says, but he's smirking triumphantly.

"You're lucky I fucking like you or I would be trying to kill you and take your place," Alex says. John's smirk just gets sharper. Alex is a little annoyed by how sexy it is. He's really struggling to be mad at John about this. "God fucking dammit, I'm dying over here."

"I know," John says. "Lafayette's gonna murder me too. And, hyperbole aside, Burr might actually, physically murder me."

"No shit," Alex says. "Normally, I'd say I'd protect you, but you kind of deserve it."

"You couldn't protect me from a wet paper bag, Hamilton," John says.

"I'm bigger than you!"

"You're _marginally taller than me_ ," John says. "I could lift you with one hand."

"Fuck off," Alex says, and shoves John. He rolls a few feet back, laughing, and then scoots back over.

"Anyway," he says. "I'm gonna have to cram to catch up on where this class is and have a couple meetings with von Steuben to figure out his game plan, but I think it'll be fine." He's much more optimistic than Alex is about how he's going to manage to sleep for the rest of the semester. "Plus, it'll give me a chance to work on my German. Not a lot of use for that since I got back to the States."

"Did I know you could speak German?" Alex asks. It's a safer topic of conversation than _I'm seriously concerned about your sanity please quit your fucking library job and let me pay for your groceries or something_.

"Maybe?" John says. "Uh, French, German-German and Swiss-German, a little Italian, and like, fifty phrases in Mandarin, most of which are dirty 'cause I picked them up from an ex-boyfriend who really only spoke it in bed."

"And Spanish," Alex says, but John shakes his head.

"Not fluently," he says. "I know...tiny bits, and I can sort of suss out some things from knowing French and Italian, but, uh, I don't speak it."

Alex winces. "I just micro-aggressed the hell out of you, huh? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed." He feels like a heel--how many times has he had to lecture people who assumed he didn't speak English based on the color of his skin? 

John just gives him a half-smile. "My dad is white. So...we didn't really speak Spanish at home."

"Wow," Alex says. "I _really_ micro-aggressed the hell out of you. I didn't know that."

"Yeah," John says. "The Laurenses are an old South Carolinian institution. My mom was born here, but my grandparents are from Puerto Rico. She grew up speaking Spanish, and she sort of started teaching it to us when we were kids, but, uh...I was pretty young when she died." He looks away and nudges the floor with the tip of his sneaker, sending his seat twisting in a slow circle. Alex watches him and wonders if he should talk about his own mother, but John speaks again before he gets a chance. "I sort of always meant to learn, but once I was in Geneva, French and German became the priority if I wanted to, like, talk to other people. I mean, everyone knew English, but if you wanted to know what kids were saying about you behind your back, you needed French and German in your pocket."

Alex recognizes a diversion when he sees one, especially from John, who seems to slam on the brakes whenever things start to drift towards talking seriously about his trauma or how he feels. He remembers the night they met, the way John blushed scarlet and insisted up and down that he didn't talk about himself, especially not to strangers. Alex didn't believe him then, but after six weeks of working to wiggle each emotional confidence out of John, it's easy to see how truthful he was being.

"Yeah, same shit, different languages," Alex says. "Technically, French and English were the official languages on the island, but people spoke everything. French, English, Spanish, Haitian Creole, Dutch, and about a million dialects in between. My first school was taught in French, my second school was taught in English, but everyone seemed to speak a mishmash of everything in the classroom, you know? Some kid would start out swearing at you in Spanish and swerve into English and throw in a couple things in Creole. You kinda had to know everything in everything, or at least the insulting shit."

The stiff set of John's shoulders melts away. That doesn't keep Alex from wanting to reach out and rub the space between his shoulder blades, but it does keep him from actually doing it. 

John twists around to rest his feet on Alex's desk and leans back. "Totally the same thing for me. When I first got there, thirteen with like, two years of French classes under my belt, it was fucking terrifying. But, you know, being submersed in it, I caught on eventually. By the time I graduated, it felt weird to walk around Harvard and only really hear English, you know?"

"I can't believe how few people speak more than one language here," Alex agrees. "So fucking weird. This country is so fucking weird."

"I feel like I should defend my homeland, but I kind of agree." His eyes flicker away from Alex and land on his travel mug. 

"Nope." Alex grabs John's ankles and holds them on his lap, twisting him away from the mug and effectively trapping him. "You just stopped shaking from the literal four cups of coffee you had before we left."

"What the fuck, Hamilton? You had just as much as I did!" John's indignance is really fucking cute. Alex assumed that his dumb middle school crush on John would eventually erode once they were dating, but so far it's still firmly in place.

"Yeah, and that's my usual daily intake, and it doesn't make me vibrate in place."

"You're such a fucking hypocrite," John mutters, but he doesn't fight to get away. "I'm an adult, I don't need you to mom!friend me."

"I don't want your heart to explode," Alex says. "I still have too many things I want to do to your body." John laughs and Alex figures he's won. "Besides, you mom!friend me just as much. 'Alex, you should probably sleep at night.' 'Alex, gummy bears aren't a fucking meal.' 'Alex, you need a goddamn sweater.'"

"Gummy bears _aren't_ a meal!" John insists. "And I say that as someone who fucking eats Easy Mac for dinner six days a week. And forgive me for being concerned that your Caribbean ass is underdressed for the weather." 

"I've lived here for two years, asshole," Alex says. "You know how much snow we got last year? I'm fucking fine. And it's hard to take your seriously as a mom!friend when you tell me to wear a jacket and then punch some dude in the face ten minutes later for looking at you funny."

"Yeah, it's way easier for me to take _you_ seriously as a mom!friend when you tell me to stop drinking coffee while in the midst of attaching your caffeine IV."

"If you think about it," Alex muses, turning his attention back to his laptop. "Mulligan should really be the mom!friend. He's older than us."

"Yeah, but he's Mulligan. Lafayette?"

"He's almost as bad as us," Alex says. "Plus, he doesn't like, care about me the same way you do."

"Yeah." John's voice is quiet and strange enough that Alex glances back over at him. His expression is...unreadable. Shuttered. Distant.

"You okay?" Alex asks. He squeezes John's ankle.

"Yeah," John says again, but he hasn't lost that uneasy tone. He shakes his head and looks back at Alex with a weak smile. "I just remembered all the reading I meant to do this morning before I have to tutor that kid."

"That's fine," Alex says. "I should get back to my paper anyway." But he watches John stretch and grab a textbook off his desk. He's chewing his lip the way he does when he's nervous. He complained the whole drive to school that tutoring was going to be a cakewalk and an easy buck, so it's not that. He seemed more excited than nervous about the von Steuben thing. Still, something is unsettling him, even as he shifts in his chair to get comfortable and cracks his book open. 

Alex squeezes his ankle again, then leaves his hand there, curled around the warm skin between the top of John's sock and the hem of his pants, while he re-reads what he's written so far. John will tell him what's bothering him or he won't. The second is more likely, but Alex is confident that even if John doesn't work it out, Alex will be able to pull it out of him eventually. For the moment, he has a paper to focus on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned Monday for Lots of Feelings(tm).


	7. Chapter Six: Feelings, Sushi, and Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and John talk about their feelings. A lot. John, miraculously, does not murder his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~Feelings~*~ as promised!
> 
> Once again, thanks to **leiascully** for the French translations! You can hover over the French for translations or scroll to the bottom of the chapter. I'm trying to figure out a way to make this easier. I'm working on it!

Alex doesn't think about von Steuben or John's new TA assignment too much for the rest of the day, even when he sees John poring over a three-ring binder full of notes in what Alex assumes is German, his expression getting more and more serious the more he reads. He can tell John is edgy--he paces around the living room when they finally get home that night, and his attention seems to be split ten different ways at any given moment. Maybe Alex was wrong--maybe von Steuben was the reason John was so quiet for the rest of the morning. A little after midnight, Alex is finally able to fuck the restlessness out of him, but he can tell it's back the next morning when John spends far too much time staring into their closet after his shower.

"I want to make a good impression on von Steuben," John finally admits when he gets tired of Alex chanting "chill out, chill out" as they go through their morning routine. "Because--let's be serious. You're a goddamn genius and already have a ton of research under your belt, even if it's currently pseudonymous. Lafayette is basically Washington's kid. I can probably hold my own against Burr, but that still puts me third in line for Washington's attention."

"You're not--"

John cuts him off before he can even finish. "I am. Which is fine. But it would be good to have some other avenues for projects when Washington's fill up with you and Lafayette, you know?"

"But you're really--"

"Alex." John covers Alex's mouth with his hand, and Alex briefly laments the like, fifteen hours before John became comfortable enough to push him around like this. He glares at John, but he keeps his mouth closed when John finally steps back.

"You look good in green," he says after a moment of silence. John smiles slowly.

"Thanks," he says.

Lafayette leaves before they do and is already at work when they get to the lab. It's not long before Burr joins them, the four of them working silently on their own projects until Burr leaves to pick up coffee before class, their usual signal to take a break for lunch before they hit the library. It's a nice routine that forces them to get out of the lab so they can work on the more academic portions of their coursework, in between fooling around in the library study rooms with the helpfully opaque glass. 

No fooling around today, though--John has his first class with von Steuben.

"Where are we going?" Lafayette asks when they step into the hall, headed away from their usual lunch spot.

"von Steuben," Alex says.

"Oh, right," Lafayette says, looking distinctly interested. "John, you must tell us everything about him. I have heard _so much_."

"Same," Alex says. "I heard he throws huge parties that you can't get into unless you're hot and pantsless."

"I heard he does not even really have a PhD," Lafayette says.

"I heard he was fired from some university in Germany for fucking all his hot young TAs," John says, and Alex raises his eyebrows.

"Maybe I chose the wrong lab after all," he says. John rolls his eyes and elbows him in the side. "I'm looking out for the both of us," Alex insists, winding an arm around John's waist and tugging him closer. "I could get cut into the fortune and keep you in the style you were accustomed to in your youth." John laughs and half-heartedly shoves him away before leaning into Alex's side instead.

"Oh, so _that's_ why you told me to wear this," John says. "Tragically, I don't think either of us is his type. Too brown, not Aryan and twink-y enough."

"But you're so little and cute," Alex says, which succeeds in John half-shoving him away again, as Alex intended. 

"You're a fucking inch taller than me, Hamilton, you're such a shit." 

"But it's an important inch!"

"Oui, Alexander, you, too, are quite tiny," Lafayette adds, and Alexander reaches out to shove him, all three of them laughing as they round the corner and nearly collide with, of course, fucking Jefferson and Madison.

"If it isn't the Gay Trio," Jefferson says, his upper lip pulled back so far in disgust that the light shining off his teeth nearly blinds Alex.

"I'm actually not gay, I'm bisexual," Alex says automatically. He's too busy pinning Jefferson with his sharpest glare to even process what he's said.

"And I am largely heterosexual, but, uh--" Lafayette twirls a finger in the air as he searches for the right word "--open-minded." 

Jefferson and Madison both blink at them in confusion.

"Oh!" Alex says as the pieces slip into place. Right. Fucking straight people. "Did you mean that as an insult?"

"It doesn't really work as insult unless we're all straight, I think," John muses. "Since I'm actually gay, and Alex is also queer, it just sounds like incorrect taxonomy."

"Yeah," Alex says. "We'd either all have to be gay, so it would be an accurate descriptor, or we'd all have to be straight, so it would be what insecure straight dudes think of as an insult."

"I don't know what all y'all are on about," Jefferson says, rolling his eyes, "but I do know you're clogging up the damn hallways."

"Your _hair_ is clogging up the fucking hallway," Alex says.

"Normally I would be thrilled to punch Jefferson in the face for you," John says, tugging Alex's sleeve. He looks at Jefferson and shakes his head. "Really, really thrilled--but I'm afraid if we stick around much longer I'll slip into his shitty accent, and I've gotta talk in front of a class."

"Uh, my accent is refined next to that trashy South Carolinian twang you get when you're drunk, Laurens," Jefferson says.

"Fuck off!" Alex snaps, because it's less embarrassing than admitting how much he likes it when John gets drunk enough that his Southern drawl fights its way out.

"Get off Laurens' damn dick, Hamilton, it's embarrassing," Jefferson says.

Before Alex can pull a John and beat the shit out of him, Lafayette grabs his arm and pushes through Jefferson and Madison shoulder first, sighing theatrically as he does so. Alex grabs John's hand, and Lafayette half-drags the two of them down the hall until Jefferson and Madison are far behind them.

"You should not, ah..." Lafayette gestures expansively.

"Encourage them?" John suggests wryly.

"Yes, precisely," Lafayette says. "It only makes them more unbearable. They would not talk to you that way if you did not get so...." He gestures again, towards Alex's general demeanor, and Alex gets it. Even if he doesn't agree.

"They're fucking assholes," Alex says. "Jefferson is, at least. Madison is just as bad, even if he just stood there and didn't say anything. What the fuck?"

"Yes, well," Lafayette says. "They're gone, and our John must go learn all of von Steuben's secrets for us."

"I'll do my best," John says.

"You'll be splendid, I'm sure," Lafayette says. "I will see you later for the gossip. Hamilton, I will meet you at the usual table." He and John bump fists, and then he turns and heads down the hall, taking the long away around to the cafe. 

Alex and John continue in the opposite direction until John comes to a stop outside of an empty lecture hall. Alex can hear the angry German muttering that means that von Steuben is somewhere inside. 

John leans back against the wall and gives Alex a lopsided grin. "You didn't have to walk me all the way over here. I'm not a kindergartener on my first day of school."

"Oh, fuck off, you were shitting yourself over it this morning," Alex says. 

John rolls his eyes, but Alex knows him well enough now to read the relief and affection in the slope of his shoulders. John slips a finger from each hand through Alex's belt loops and tugs him forward until they're kissing, slow and familiar, almost lazy. Alex tries to keep himself from digging his hands into John's hair, loose around his shoulders. He's mostly successful.

John bites Alex's lower lip as he pulls away, and Alex is abruptly deeply disappointed that fooling around in the library study rooms is off the table for this afternoon.

"I'm going to miss you when von Steuben woos me away," John says seriously. 

Alex chokes on a laugh and shoves him. "Fuck off, Laurens. Go to your fucking class." 

John laughs and grins and gives Alex one last wave before ducking into the lecture hall, calling out something in German as he descends the stairs.

When Alex gets to the cafe, Lafayette already has his customary sandwich and coffee waiting for him. He raises a single eyebrow as Alex takes a seat. 

"And how is our Laurens, then?" he asks.

"He's fine," Alex says absently, unwrapping his sandwich. Then he pauses for a moment and considers the question. "Actually...have you noticed he's been...weird this week? Like...more intense." He struggles to find the right word. "More prickly. More neurotic."

Lafayette stares over Alex's shoulder for a moment, stirring his coffee. Sometimes he'll put on an affect like this, like he's miles more mature or above the antics of Alex and John, and sometimes even Herc, like he's a goddamn French stereotype. This isn't quite that. He seems genuinely unsure how to proceed.

"Do you remember when we were going on your great bike adventure, and I told you that John wasn't happy before we met you?" he asks. Alex nods and Lafayette's attention refocuses on him. "This was what he was like. Great fun, at times, a good friend, generally, but aloof and distant and...." He gestures vaguely with his coffee stirrer and Alex gets the picture.

"Yeah," Alex says quietly. 

"I wouldn't take it personally," Lafayette says. "I know I said before that you made him happy, but I wouldn't take it personally if he's having trouble now. As hard as it is for all of us to believe, you are not the be-all, end-all of his life. The stress of the semester, I imagine, of this new assignment, is getting to him. Perhaps you should talk to him. It would mean more, coming from you."

"You’ve known him longer," Alex reminds him.

"And you have spent every waking second with him from the moment you met," Lafayette says. "You two are...." He trails off and gives Alex a significant look. 

Right. Now is probably the time to nod, not to point out that they have some different classes so there are whole waking hours they spend apart. He can already see the skeptical look that Lafayette will give him right before telling him that just furthers the point.

"He _is_ taking a lot on," Alex says instead. Classes, TAing and GAing for Washington, freelance work, the library, tutoring, and now TAing for von Steuben...it's a wonder he has any time to spend with them at all. "I’ll see how the class goes and talk to him later." 

Lafayette nods and taps Alex on the nose with his coffee stirrer before discarding it and taking a sip. He ignores the scowl that Alex points in his direction. 

"Now," Lafayette says when he puts the coffee down. "On to more important matters--do you think that new girl, Jillian Lin, is being groomed to replace Garcia on _Paranormal Analysis_?"

Alex sits up straighter. He's been cultivating some theories on the parapsych _Criminal Minds_ spin-off since the last episode aired.

"I was thinking that!" he says. "Because, sure, she's only in like, one or two scenes a week of this one now, but I bet they're going to start to realize that parapsych work involves a lot more tech shit, and if they're really going to try and do at least a half decent job of replicating it for television, they're gonna need to spend a lot more time on the computer and in the lab. More time than that actress can probably devote to the show if she's still doing the regular _Criminal Minds_ full time."

"And they're definitely setting up a romance with Falconer," Lafayette adds.

"Oh, no way!" Alex says. "That's not going to go anywhere!" 

Alex launches into his guesses as to the character arcs for the rest of the season, and the debate takes them through lunch and back to the lab.

"I still thinking something is developing with Jillian and Falconer," Lafayette says as he swings his bag under his desk and then settles down to his computer.

"That's what fanfiction is for, Laf," Alex says. "I bet you can google your way into a tumblr of like-minded people, but you're all gonna be disappointed, I'm telling you."

Burr is standing at the lightboxes that rest on top of the empty desk catty corner to Lafayette. He regards them both with raised eyebrows.

"We're discussing the parapsych _Criminal Minds_ spin-off," Lafayette explains. "Have you been watching?"

"Shows like that are nonsense," Burr says with a moue of distaste. "It's not even close to the reality of parapsych work, especially government parapsych work. Why would you waste your time?"

"Oh, come on, it's fun," Alex insists. "Watching and mocking their procedures and solving the case in five seconds--it's a good time."

The look on Burr's face makes it clear he disagrees. Alex should have known--the guy never seems like he has any fun.

"If you're not too busy making fun of our field--"

"That's rich from a fence-sitter," Alex mutters. Burr ignores him.

"--could one of you help me with some measurements?"

Lafayette has his finger on his nose and is shooting Alex a pointed look before Alex can manage to come up with an excuse.

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Fine, I can help."

Burr's doing something complicated with a camera and old photo negatives he's checked out of the library. Alex doesn't entirely follow, partially because photography is frustratingly beyond him and partially out of childish spite. He goes where Burr directs him, holds out a measuring tape, then stands there awkwardly as Burr takes notes. Eventually, he starts reading a book on his phone in between measurements, but he's itchy to get back to his desk.

Just as he's about to give in and tell Burr that he doesn't have time for this, he's saved by his own personal angel of perfectly timed distractions and inventive swearing. John bustles into the room, cursing loud enough to get everyone's attention when he bumps his hip on one of the lab tables in his haste to get to his desk.

"Holy shit, guys, everything about von Steuben is true!" John announces, tossing his bag under his desk and spilling his armful of books and papers on top of it. "Seriously, everything. Well--he does have a PhD. But he definitely got fired for fucking his TAs and he definitely threw a desk at a kid and he definitely did some sort of secret army training and he _really_ definitely throws those secret parties because he _invited me to one_."

"What did you say?" Alex asks immediately. He drops the tape measure he’s holding and ignores Burr's curse of frustration. "We're going, right?"

"Are you really that eager for an orgy with von Steuben and those two blond twinks who follow him around?" Alex opens his mouth, but before he can respond, John holds both his hands up and rolls his eyes. "Wait. Don't answer that. I already know."

"I told you you were unethical crush material," Alex says.

"I don't think that's it," John says. "I think he was like, testing me, maybe? To make sure I'm not going to flake like Coleman. But I do think he likes me--in an assistant way, not in an unethical crush way." He adds the last part before Alex can interrupt, shooting him a sharp look which Alex ignores. 

Alex sits on the edge of John's desk, his feet dangling over the ground, and picks up the syllabus for von Steuben's class. It looks similar to Washington's 102 class with maybe a fourth of the readings switched out for names that Alex recognizes as European leaders in the field that frequently get overlooked in the States.

"This is good stuff," he says. He can't help but be a little impressed. Rochambeau is on there, of course, but most Americans are already using his stuff. Galvez is surprising, though, and Alex doesn't know that he's ever seen something from the Hortalez Journal on a syllabus before.

"Right?" John says. "I saw Galvez speak when I was in school in Geneva, and he's _amazing_. I can't believe more people here don't tap into his work. And, to be honest, I think it was saying that when he showed me the syllabus that won von Steuben over definitively. That was when he told me about the party, at least."

Alex drops the syllabus immediately and refocuses his attention on John.

"Tell me _everything_."

"I don't know everything! He just--ugh, I'm gonna tell you this, and you're gonna get back on the unethical crush thing." Alex does a very poor job of hiding his glee, and John flips him off. "He asked if I had ever done a flaming shot before and I said no and he said I should come to one of his mixers. I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about, and he said that he throws parties every other Friday for queer grad students and faculty. Invitation only, and they're themed. And you put this fucking unethical crush idea in my head, so I inserted you into the conversation in the most awkward way possible, like, 'oh, my boyfriend has a thing on Fridays' and he just said you should come too." 

John looks down at his tablet and starts tapping through various screens, a clear indication that he's done with the conversation. Alex isn't, however.

"So, are we going? We're going, right?"

"Alex, I have a lot to do, okay? I don't know. It's a long way off. Anything could happen."

Something about the way John says _anything could happen_ makes Alex shiver. He's not exactly sure what it is. He is sure that John's shoulders are tight again, back in the same nervous set they were in this morning. He's been tense on and off for a couple weeks, now. He's been smiling less. There's something going on, something happening with John that's twisted him up, made him more skittish and anxious, less exuberant. He's been working more, piling jobs on top of jobs until his finances settle down, and that's probably part of it, but it feels like more than that. Alex is worried. He wants to help. He wants, at the very least, to know what's going on. And that's definitely not going to happen here.

"Hey, can we get dinner after class?" Alex nudges John's thigh with his foot. 

John looks less irritated when he glances up from his tablet. "We always get dinner after class."

"No, I mean, get-dinner, get dinner," Alex says. "The cheap sushi place?"

John frowns. "I really shouldn't--"

"My treat," Alex says. "Don't argue, I'm fucking buying you dinner. Congratulations on your new gig and your face being so good that I want to look at it while I eat sushi."

"You're such an asshole," John says, rolling his eyes. Alex rolls his own right back.

"Yeah, I'm such an asshole, forcing you to come out with me and eat food that I'm buying for you because I like your face. I'm a fucking monster." He slides off the desk and onto John's lap. He lands harder than he expects and John grunts at the sudden weight, his chair rolling backwards as his hands immediately fly to Alex's hips to keep him from tipping off. "Dinner."

"Fine," John says. "It doesn't really sound like I have a choice."

"Now you're getting it."

Just then, Washington steps out of his office and into the lab.

"Gentlemen," he says in greeting before shoving their chair back towards John's desk. "Hamilton, your report on the Miltons' case was...thorough." 

"You said I could go over five pages if I deemed it a necessity!" Alex reminds him. And if Washington hadn't yet realized that Alex tended to interpret both "over x pages" and "necessity" in the broadest possible sense, that was his problem.

"We might need to revisit the definition of 'necessity,'" Washington says. "Laurens, how was von Steuben?"

"Interesting." John twists his head around to look at Washington, still gripping Alex's waist securely to keep him from teetering onto the floor. "His teaching style is very, um, different. Compared to yours, at least. But I think he likes me well enough, and I can definitely handle the work."

"Excellent," Washington says. "That's what I wanted to hear." He starts to cross the lab to where Lafayette and Burr are working, then pauses. "Off the record?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't sleep with him."

Alex bursts out laughing hard enough that he falls off of John and has to stumble to keep from sprawling face first on the tile. John, for his part, turns bright red.

"I told you!" Alex says. "Unethical crush!"

"No one has an unethical crush!" John insists. "I'm not going to sleep with him! Jesus. Even if I did find him attractive, which I don't, where the hell am I going to find the time to sleep with him in between classes, TAing two additional classes, GAing in the office, freelancing, working in the library, tutoring the Smith kid, driving your ass around Morris County, and sleeping with you?" He looks back at Washington. "Wait, is that what really happened to Coleman?"

"No, no," Washington says. "But it is a problem we've had in the past. I've already stepped too far outside of the bounds of professionalism."

"No, you definitely haven't, tell us more," Alex says, but Washington just give him A Look.

"I'll see you gentlemen in seminar. Laurens--I'm about to email you the paperwork and objectives for the immersive overnight. Oh, and Martha asked me to remind you both about dinner on Friday."

"Yes, sir," Alex and John chorus. Washington crosses the room to speak to Burr and Lafayette, and Alex punches John's shoulder.

"I told you," he says.

"I know when people are looking," John says. "He wasn't looking. He just thinks I'm funny and mean--he's already got his two live-in twinks, and if you haven't noticed, he has a type."

"Maybe he wants some Latin flavor to spice it up."

It's worth the degradation of actually saying that out loud to see the face that John makes in response. If only Alex had his phone out to immortalize his look of horror.

"Do you hear the shit that comes out of your mouth?" John finally sputters. He punches Alex right back and shakes his head. "I'm not sleeping with von Steuben either by my own volition or in order for you to get closer to him to learn his secrets, or whatever the hell your goal is here."

John's balanced on a razor edge of actual anger, and while Alex normally has no problem pushing well past his limits and dealing with the fallout, if he's going to try and have a serious conversation with John over dinner, it's probably best to make sure John is actually going to be willing to take him to dinner in the first place.

"No goal," Alex promises. "Just a joke. And an acknowledgement that you're hot enough that I think everyone should have a crush on you, unethical or not. I mean, I do."

That wins him back enough points for John to lower his hackles, at least. 

"Did you reset my infrared preferences when you were done with my computer?" John asks, effectively ending that discussion.

"Yeah, everything's back the way it was. I've got to calibrate the spirit boxes and finish a blog post, so I'll see you for class?"

"Yeah," John says. He scoots back over to his computer and then says, without turning around, "You have a crush on me, huh?"

"Of course," Alex says, like he's not pretty regularly embarrassed by it. "I'm crazy about you. Isn't it obvious?"

"I guess it is," John says, and Alex decides to leave him on that cryptic note and get his work done so he can dedicate the next couple of hours to his blog.

*

John actually finds street parking before dinner, which is always a crapshoot in downtown Morristown at six o'clock. They manage to get what a quick glance around the room confirms is the last table in the place, tucked away in the back, which is really ideal for the conversation that Alex is hoping to have.

"Do you wanna--" he starts to ask.

"Yeah. Nothing with--"

"--crab, I know. We'll get--"

"--three rolls and dumplings?"

Alex grins. "We're getting pretty good at this couple thing."

"Yeah," John says, but there's something off about his smile, which is, Alex supposes, why they're here.

He waits until they've placed their order and they're drinking Japanese beer to broach the subject.

"So," he says, and John groans.

"I knew it," he says. "I knew there was an ulterior motive."

"No ulterior motive," Alex insists. "I wanted sushi, and I like looking at your face. But while we're here, I might as well take the time to ask you why you've been so weird the past few days."

"I'm always weird."

"Weirder than usual," Alex says. "You've been...nervous. Anxious. Which isn't like you."

"Alex, you've known me for two months. How do you know what I'm like?"

Alex slams into that hard enough to get whiplash, and he can tell John regrets the words immediately. They sit there in awkward silence with matching looks of shock.

"Jesus, Alex, I didn't mean that," John finally says. "I really didn't, I just--I'm stressed out--"

"It's fine," Alex says, but he knows it sounds stiff. He's still reeling.

"No, no, it's not," John insists. "Really, I just--fuck, you know me better than anyone. Than anyone ever has, even, ever before in my life. I know it's only been two months, but there are things you know about me--I swear, I didn't mean it. I'm just--I'm a mess right now."

Alex believes him, even though the words still sting. 

"I know," Alex says, and John relaxes minutely. "That's kind of what I mean. You've been a mess, you've been stressed out, and I wish I knew why. I know part of it is that you've been so busy, but it feels like more than that. I want to help. That's all." He suddenly remembers something John said to him when he was out of his mind studying for the parapsych certification exam. "I miss my boyfriend," he says, and finally understands what John meant when he first said it.

John shakes head, his smile rueful as he glances at Alex. "I don't fucking deserve you, you know that?"

"I'm a shithead," Alex says. "I just like you enough to work to keep you around." John looks at him and smiles, his eyes full of affection, then drops his gaze to his beer bottle and reaches out to pick at the peeling edge of the label. He seems to shrink back into his hoodie. Seconds of silence turn into minutes, which makes Alex twitchy, but he's learned by now that John won't be rushed when he's talking about what's troubling him or what he's thinking or what he's feeling.

"My sister's birthday--my oldest sister--was a couple weeks ago, and I texted her to wish her a happy birthday, and she texted me back. It's only the second time I've talked to any of my family since I told my dad I wasn't going to law school. It was Martha then, too--she hunted down my new email and phone number and let me know that I shouldn't be a stranger. Anyway. She just...said some things...."

Alex makes an involuntary noise of frustration, and John glances up at him.

"No, no," he says. "Nothing bad. She's not--she sort of gets why I left, I think. She's smart, she's mostly on my side. But some of the things she said about me and my future and my dad--well, it's real. Leaving home. Leaving all that behind. It's not some crazy game or gamble or trick, it's a real thing that I did and I'm really fucking glad that I did it, but at the same time...I can't go back. I mean, I can--if I fail and go crawling back to my dad and apologize, he'd take me back in a second and spend the rest of my life rubbing my face in it, however long that might be. But _I_ can't. I won't let myself. Which means I can't fail, because I have no backup plan." He looks away again. "That's just been on my mind, lately. That I need to start thinking about what I do, what I take on, through the lens of pushing my career forward. What I said to you this morning--you're a genius, Alex. You don't need to worry about this shit, people will be fighting to snatch you up or give you money to do whatever you want. I don't have that kind of security."

Jesus. Well. First thing's first: Alex reaches across the table and takes John's hand in his own.

"Okay, let me unpack this with you," he says, rubbing his thumb across John's knuckles. "Because this is a lot."

"I warned you," John says darkly.

"Shut up, you know that's not what I mean," Alex says absently as he turns John's confession over and over in his mind. John was right, earlier--Alex has only known him for two months now, so it feels disingenuous to say that this isn't how John is--to say that this is out of character--but at the same time, Alex _knows_ it's true. He feels it. He looks at John, shrunken back into his hoodie, self-deprecating, edgy, and it doesn't fit with the person who's become his best friend. John is loud and confident in his work. He's quick to anger and quick to let that anger escalate into picking fights, but he's never _cruel_. He takes action--he's not one for dithering and worrying and picking things over in his mind. The only thing Alex has ever seen him get this twisted up about is his family, so it's not that hard to figure out where to start.

"You're not stupid, you know that, right?" Alex leads with. John gives him a look so withering Alex is sure he's aged ten years by the end of it. "I'm serious. Straight up, that's where we start--I don't know where you got it into your head that you're not head and shoulders above the majority of the rest of the people studying parapsych in the country. You scored a fucking 99 on the IP exam--you heard the proctor, I was only the second person with a perfect score she'd ever met and she'd met about two other people who hit 99. You keep calling me a genius--you are too. You're so good at this. And you're probably right, I have a larger body of work than you do, I have more research experience, I have more knowledge, but that doesn't mean you're garbage, okay? You probably outclass Lafayette on a lot of this shit, him being Washington's fake kid aside. If, for some crazy, unforeseeable reason, Washington only has the pull to help set up two of us with jobs after graduation, yeah, he might pick me and Lafayette, but you're perfect on paper and it's not gonna be hard for you to get something on your own. A PhD and a recommendation from George Washington and a 99 on the IP exam and your published and practical work aside, you've also got a name that means something. You might not be talking to your dad, but your name still means something."

John flinches at that, but he doesn't say anything and he doesn't pull his hand away, so Alex presses on.

"So that's number one: I get being nervous about your future, but you're gonna be fine, and even if we slip into a bizarro world where people don't look at your skills and fight for you, I won't fucking let you starve. You'll still have me and the guys and our business, and fuck your pride, I'll make sure you're fed and clothed and housed until you get on your feet."

"Alex," John tries to say, shifting uncomfortably.

"Shut up," Alex says. "You're my best friend--the best friend I've ever had, the best anything I've ever had. I'm not letting you live on the street. You won't have to go back to your dad." He squeezes John's hand for emphasis. "Speaking of, number two: fuck your family. Fuck them. Fuck your dad, fuck your sister for only 'sort of' being on your side, fuck the goddamn bunch of them for not looking at you and bending over backwards to keep you. If you're not worth it to them, they shouldn't be worth it to you."

He realizes he's being a bit of a hypocrite in saying this, but it's not like James Jr. ever lifted a finger to help Alex out with anything in the twelve years they lived together. It's not like his brother shed a tear when he was given to one foster family and Alex another. It's not like he ever tried to check up on his little brother.

Anyway.

"I had another thing," Alex says, frowning and shaking himself out of his reverie. 

"I'm shocked," John says dryly. He cracks a smile and _that_ is the John that Alex didn't even realize he was missing this week. Right.

"Okay, I've got it. Thing number three: You've been really weird the past week, like I said. Like...neurotic and intense or...restless. I don't know. And it seems like more than just a series of bad days." 

John exhales and glances over his own shoulder. Alex tries very hard to continue to be patient, even though the numerous protracted silences of this conversation are making him crazy.

"I...get in my head sometimes," John finally says. "I just get...tired. And nervous. And life starts to feel...heavy. It's hard to explain. It's like swimming upstream."

The realization hits him with a wave of sadness, a distant nausea. "You mean depressed," Alex says quietly. "Like, capital-d-depressed, like clinically depressed. Like DSM-V depressed."

John goes very still, but says nothing. He's still looking away. John, who's so terrible at taking care of himself, who puts himself as the lowest priority, who never, ever thinks he's good enough. John, who always seems to be struggling with himself, who can't take a compliment, who can't take a _break_ until he proves himself, like a terribly sad sisyphean nightmare. 

"I don't know that I'd go that far," John says, entirely unconvincingly. He finally turns back around, though he doesn't meet Alex's eyes. "Look, it's not--I'll be back to normal soon, it's just--"

"Shut up." There are a million questions that Alex could ask, but he knows the answer to all of them is 'no.' No, John's never talked to anyone about this; no, John's never seen a doctor or taken a pill or even called a fucking hotline. Because god forbid he think about himself as a person for more than five fucking minutes. "I don't care if you're normal, I care if you're...not okay. I care if you're--I want to help. I care if I'm not helping and I could be helping--and I know I could be helping even if you think you don't need help because everyone needs fucking help sometimes even if you're too stubborn to ask for it. And if I can't help, regardless of how open to the concept of helping you are, then what good am I?"

The shuttered distant look in John's eyes turns into something more bewildered as his lips curl up into a confused frown. Okay, right, probably not his most eloquent speech ever.

"I just wish you'd come to me and tell me, is what I'm saying," Alex says. "And, before you say anything or make another face, I also know that's about as likely as Jefferson seeing sense or Burr pulling that stick from out of his ass, but we don't have to talk-talk, you know? If you're feeling like this, if you need things to slow down, you can just say, you know, 'Alex, can we just lie in bed and eat pop-tarts and not do anything else?' and I can do that."

John's smile peeks through again. "Alexander, you couldn't lie still in bed all day if your life depended on it, and we both know it."

"Yeah, well, I'd try for you," Alex says. "I'd do anything for you if you asked me."

He realizes, abruptly, that it's true. Huh. That probably means something.

It probably means something to John too, based on the way John's rigid posture nearly melts into the chair. It's like a full body shudder--Alex can feel the tension draining from his grip on John's hand.

"Listen, Alex, I should probably--you should probably, uh--"

Whatever he should probably do is interrupted by the arrival of their waiter. John takes his hand back to make way for the plates, and busies himself unrolling his napkin and pulling out his plastic chopsticks until the waiter is gone and it's just the two of them again.

"What were you saying?" Alex asks as he shovels half the food onto his plate. John sucks on his lower lip for a moment.

"Thanks," he finally says. "I was saying thanks. For...caring enough to torture me by making me talk about this shit. I know I'm a pain in the ass."

"Yeah," Alex says dismissively, "but you're my pain in the ass, so whatever. I like your face. I can put up with your stupid neuroses."

"I like yours too," John says. He's definitely blushing as he leans over to steal a clump of ginger from one of the plates, but Alex lets it slide. "But we are fucking done now, okay? We're done talking about this shit for at least a week, if not forever, because I might actually die if you keep it up."

"You're not gonna die from talking about your feelings, you melodramatic asshole," Alex says.

"I'll die of old age in prison when I'm arrested for _murdering you_."

Alex laughs loudly enough that the people at the closest to them turn around curiously and John kicks him under the table.

"Shut up and eat your damn sushi," John says with enough of a smile that Alex is confident that they'll be alright, eventually.

* * *

Work continues and John slides slowly back towards his normal self. Or, as normal as he can manage to be with his crazy schedule. Alex maybe hovers more than he should--he keeps trying to tell himself that John is an adult, and he seems to have his shit under control, even if he goes through dark periods. He still gets to work and classes; he still spends time with Alex and always has a joke and a smirk for the guys when they go out drinking after cases, but Alex can't shake the need to check in, to make sure that John is...some nebulous definition of okay. 

It's strange, caring about someone else. Alex held a certain amount of affection for his foster family, but it was always distant. Even though he knew Mr. Stevens, and, to a lesser degree, Mrs. Stevens and Ned, cared about him, Alex was always incredibly aware that he wasn't really part of the family, that everyone else he relied on had left him, that housing Alex wasn't so much a choice for them as an obligation. At Columbia, he was too busy to make more than the most cursory of friendships, people whom he shared classes with and studied with and sometimes hooked up with, but hasn't tried very hard to stay in contact with in the time since.

He's only been at Morristown for two months, give or take, but he already feels more strongly about John and Lafayette and Mulligan and even, to a degree, Burr, than he ever did about anyone at Columbia or anyone on the island. Even Washington has become far more of a mentor to him in the short time he's been here than any of his other professors ever had. Alex finds himself willingly pausing his work to spend time with friends after classes; he puts his blog comments off an extra hour to lay in bed with John debating the latest theories on the ParaSearch forums, and even, for the first time, hasn't completely overloaded his schedule to take as many classes as possible. He wants to spend time with these people. He's happy when he's with them and misses them when they're apart. He thinks about them when they're not right in front of him, which is monumental in and of itself.

He’s made a lot of adjustments starting this program, but this one is the strangest and the one he never could have predicted. It's worse, too, with John than the rest, probably because they're dating. John consumes a really disproportionate amount of his thoughts, especially in the past few weeks. He's not necessarily complaining--he still gets his work done, still keeps up with his blog. John isn't superseding any of his other obligations, just filling a hole that Alex hadn't even realized was there. Anything he can do with John in the room he does--they collaborate on blog posts, work on papers side-by-side, research silently together in the library, work on experiments together in the lab, and work cases along with Lafayette and Mulligan. They live together and sleep together and drive around town together, and Alex has become comfortable with that. He's used to having John within arm's reach when he needs him, which is probably why he feels so wary of John's overnight excursion with Washington and the undergrad IAP group.

"It's just going to be weird," Alex says as he twirls around slowly in his chair, watching John double check the lab camera he likes best before packing it away in his bag.

"You're just jealous," John says. "It's going to be pretty fucking amazing, I think." 

"It's not that," Alex says. "It's just...weird. I don't know." He has this lingering feeling that it probably should be jealousy that's putting him off, not this prickling feeling that overcomes him when he thinks about almost forty-eight hours alone. 

"Well, I'll be sure to take lots of pictures," John promises him. "And video. And I'll be back by dinner tomorrow."

"I know," Alex says. He puts his foot out to stop the slow twirl of his chair. "Whatever. I'm going out with Lafayette and Mulligan tonight, anyway."

"So you'll be drinking with our friends, and I'll be hanging out with undergrads," John says. "Why are you jealous of my weekend again?"

"I'm not," Alex says. "Anyway. It's going to be weird, that's all." He jumps up from his chair as John darts back and forth between the desks to grab a few more odds and ends to add to his gear bag. He takes a back-up battery for a spirit box off of Alex's desk and an MP3 recorder from a drawer in his own and tosses them in, then zips it up and throws it over his shoulder. Alex grabs John's duffle bag and gestures for him to lead the way out of the lab, sighing heavily at the thought of the next two days.

"Come on, man, you'll be fine on your own," John says. "I don't know if we'll get a signal all the way out there, but I promise I'll send you some video and shit tonight if we do. It'll be like you're there, except without worrying about the sanity of a dozen undergrads."

"We can't even get a signal in the back parking lot," Alex says. "No way you're getting one in the middle of the woods." John shrugs, and they continue through the halls towards the parking lot as something occurs to Alex. "You know, now that I think about it, this is the first time we'll be apart for more than a few hours since the night we met." It's a strange revelation; he's probably spent more time with John in the past two months than he had with all of his acquaintances at Columbia combined over the course of his two years there. Suddenly it's not surprising he's so twitchy about John leaving for a couple days.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed," John says in a tone of voice that makes it clear he has, but doesn't want to admit it for whatever reason.

"Yeah," Alex says. "Huh. No wonder I'm so edgy. I guess I've gotten used to having you around."

John hums in acknowledgment as they push their way out of the double glass doors of the building and into the parking lot. Washington and two kids Alex vaguely recognizes are waiting by the two Parapsych Department vans. Washington nods at them as they approach.

"Mr. Hamilton," Washington says once they reach the vans. "I don't believe you're on the roster for this trip."

"Just dropping Laurens off," Alex says, dropping John's duffle bag to the ground. 

"Of course you are," Washington says. "Mr. Laurens, stow your things and then help Diaz and Hartford split up the weekend assignments."

"Will do," John says. He moves to the van and once he's placed his gear bag and his duffle bag in the back, he returns to Alex, smiling just a little. "Still not a kindergartener. You can get out of here. Don't you have class?"

"I've got like, ten whole minutes to get over there, still," Alex says. He grasps either side of John's open hoodie and tugs him closer. John raises his eyebrows, but goes willingly, resting his hands on Alex's hips. "Anyway. Two whole days."

"One day," John says. "Thirty-six hours. Try not to get yourself arrested while I'm gone."

"Excuse me, what did I do to deserve that assault on my character? I'm not the hothead who inevitably throws the first punch."

"Aw, babe, you're so sweet."

Alex laughs even as he pulls John against him and into a kiss that's mostly clean, though lingering. John smiles against his mouth and rests their foreheads together once they break apart.

"Stay out of trouble," John says.

"Same," Alex says. "Don't get any of those kids killed, they'll probably cut your funding."

One of the kids behind them chuckles nervously, and John smirks and then kisses him again.

"Hamilton, Laurens, as touching as this is...."

John kisses Alex one last time and gently shoves him away.

"Thirty-six hours, asshole, you'll be fine," he says. Alex sighs dramatically, mostly to see John roll his eyes.

"Fine, fine," Alex says. "Have fun, whatever, see you tomorrow."

"See you," John says, and waves one last time before he goes over to join the kids with the clipboards. 

Alex watches him for a second and then jogs back into the building. John was right--he has class, and he still has to run back to the lab and grab his bag.

Thirty-six hours. It's not like Alex hasn't spent time by himself before. This shouldn't be a big deal at all, no matter how strange and twitchy the whole thing makes him feel.

He can't shake it, though. He goes through class and his TA lab and spends two hours researching in the library. He writes a handful of blog posts and works on the schedule for the rest of the month (it's been awhile since he did a tech week, and John knows so much more about photography equipment than he does...) and outlines a paper. He bangs around the lab making sure everything is neat and all the paperwork is done. His mind should be occupied, and it is, but there's a distant buzz in the back that's constantly wondering if it's time for John to come home yet. It's like he's mindlessly _bored_ except he has a million things to do to fill his time. 

For once, he's glad to abandon his work and leave the lab when Lafayette and Herc show up around dinner time to pry him away from his computer.

"Our poor, lonely Alexander," Laf coos, ruffling Alex's hair. "Wasting away and abandoned."

"I hardly recognized you without Laurens attached to your hip," Mulligan adds.

"Fuck off," Alex says, swatting at both of them. "Are you going to spend all night making fun of me?"

"Yup," Mulligan says, tugging him to his feet by the hood of his sweatshirt. "C'mon, Laf owes me some shots, and I'm gonna make him buy some for your sorry ass too."

Alex rolls his shoulders and straightens out his hoodie, but he grabs his bag and follows Lafayette and Herc out into the hallway without any further fuss, pausing only to set the alarm on the lab and lock the doors.

"You're totally exaggerating," he says as they head out to Mulligan's car. "I'm not that bad. I'm just bored. I'm used to having John around."

"Whatever you need to say to help yourself sleep tonight, loverboy," Mulligan says. "You're fucking pining."

Alex rolls his eyes. He's not pining. He's just...he's just....

He's something. He's just not sure what. He can't really place what he's feeling, but he hopes that spending an evening with Herc and Lafayette will shake him out of it.

"Drinks are on me tonight," Lafayette says once the three of them are settled into a booth at the Further Frog. "You should not have to pay for drinks when you are so pathetic."

"I'm not pathetic!" Alex insists. "I haven't mentioned John once since you guys got to the lab. You're the ones who seem to think I'm like, sobbing inconsolably into my pillow because my best friend is spending the night somewhere else."

"Bro, I have literally never seen you without Laurens in the two months I've known you," Mulligan says. "I have fucking _found_ Laurens in crowds by following the sound of your loudass ranting."

Alex flips him off because it's easier than coming up with a lie to refute that.

"Can we please talk about something else?" he asks. "I'm starting to think you guys are the ones pining since you won't fucking shut up about John."

"We would never do that to you, Hamilton," Lafayette assures him. "You have marked your territory quite clearly." 

Alex lets his head fall to the table as Lafayette and Herc laugh again. Thank god Laf's buying, because Alex is gonna have to do a hell of a lot of drinking to get through this night without killing his friends.

Eventually, the conversation manages to stumble away from John's absence and on to other topics. Mulligan asks an innocent question about Adrienne, which gives Alex an opportunity to mock the shit out of Lafayette for a change. They get into a three-way argument about a prototype room scanner that they've been experimenting with in the field, and Alex and Lafayette drag Herc into their argument about potential relationships on _Criminal Minds: Paranormal Analysis_.

Alex is cheerfully tipsy by the time they head out, Herc heading to the apartment behind his shop and Lafayette chauffeuring Alex back to their apartment. The ride back just lodges John back into Alex's head, though--riding with Lafayette is so different than riding with John, and not just because his car is newer and fancier, and not just because he doesn't let Alex rest his feet on the dash and rifle through all of the little compartments for snacks and things to play with.

It's a single night, and maybe Lafayette and Herc are right--maybe he's being a little pathetic in John's absence. He's just _used_ to John. There aren't a lot of things in his life that have ever offered him the kind of stability he gets from his relationship with John. John is always there. He and John have a routine.

They have a bedtime routine, even, which is probably dumb as fuck, but Alex is more concerned with its absence than examining it closely. The room is weirdly quiet and empty, and the rhythm of his bedtime preparations is off. He's used to trading off on the bathroom, on having certain tasks timed so that he and John can slip past each other fluidly as they prepare to bed down. Alex doesn't frequently _sleep_ then, but it's nice to have his teeth brushed and his pajamas on and his hair up and his contacts switched for glasses before he starts writing and editing blog posts and responding to comments while John drifts off to sleep. He normally does that in the living room--John apparently doesn't mind the light or the sound of typing but can't sleep with Alex constantly talking to himself as he works. Tonight, though, he can do it in bed, and while he's pleased with the idea of it at first, it just feels weird once he's settled into the middle of the mattress with his computer on his lap and his water bottle wedged against his side.

Maybe he was better off without friends because if this is how he's going to feel every time one of his friends leaves for a couple days, it's gonna get real old real fast.

He forces himself to focus on reading some articles that came out of yesterday's "#parabros" discussion on Twitter, some interesting takes on the entrenched misogyny and racism in the field. He'd contributed himself under both his personal Twitter and Athenodorus'--ParaBros are just as condescending to scrawny, queer, immigrant Latino kids as they are to women, and he's pleased to see tweets from both his accounts quoted in several of the thinkpieces. John's in there too, and Alex is about to call out and let him know when he remembers that John isn't here.

Right.

He stares at John's twitter icon for a moment. It's of the side of his head--his hair takes up most of the frame and only a sliver of his face is visible. He doesn't like having his picture taken, even though he's cute as shit, even though he has no problem taking other people's pictures. He claims he didn't want his face on his social media in the past because he wanted to keep it off his father's radar, but they've been estranged for months now, and it's not like anyone who knows him wouldn't recognize that particular mass of curls juxtaposed with the spread of freckles over one distinct cheekbone.

Alex looks away from the screen, frowning, and then opens a new tab and googles the definition of "codependency."

Alex's phone buzzes before he can do more than give the dictionary definition a cursory glance. It is, of course, a text from John. Alex would wonder if he was summoned by Alex's thoughts, except that John has been haunting Alex's thoughts all day, so it's probably just the law of averages at work.

_tried to send you a video clip but the signal here is shit. by the time it gets to you, I'll already be home and I can show it to you in person._   
_I'm not even sure if this text is gonna go through._

_It went through,_ Alex types back one-handed. _Kill any children yet?_

_some of them are older than you, you know_   
_and nope. washington almost did. I think I'm mostly here to corroborate his story should he snap and murder one of them._   
_it's fucking awesome, tho. I wish you could see it._   
_we should wheedle him into giving us the keys so we can come back on our own_

Now _that_ would be nice. And not because the idea of being alone with John in a house with at least a dozen residual hauntings is a turn-on. At least, not only because of that.

_Awesome._   
_Our friends are all assholes, fyi_

_I know,_ John responds almost instantaneously.   
_so are we_  
 _I'm p sure that's why we're friends in the first place_

Well, he's not entirely wrong about that. Fuck, he wishes they could be having this conversation face to face, preferably here in bed. He'd much rather be pathetically sprawled over John while bitching about Lafayette and Herc than cuddled up to his laptop.

_I'm working in bed. I've got my shit spread out everywhere. It's great._

A slight exaggeration, but whatever.

_well, don't get used to it. I'll be back before dinner._   
_anyway I gotta go_   
_try to actually get some sleep, asshole_

_night_ , he shoots back, and then lets the phone fall back onto the mattress next to him. He stares unseeingly at his laptop for a moment and then sighs. Loudly.

"Get your shit together, Hamilton," he says, and redoubles his efforts to get some fucking work done.

He ends up falling asleep around two, earlier than he would have had John been home, but he tosses and turns for another hour anyway. It's hard to get comfortable without his own personal bed-warmer-slash-body-pillow, and having the whole bed to himself is just _weird_.

He sleeps later than usual, too, waking up after nine. Lafayette is already awake and, from the sounds of it, Skyping with his girlfriend (or girl "friend"), so Alex makes sure to pull a pair of sweats over his boxers before he wanders out into the living room.

"...mais elle était ridicule et je lui ai dit ça." Adrienne's voice is softly ringing out into the living room, where Laf is sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing his laptop. "Bonjour, Alexandre!" she says when Alex walks past and then flops onto the couch next to Lafayette. Lafayette groans.

"Bonjour, Adrienne," he says. "Et comment est Paris?"

"Garde tes oignons," Laf says. "Go away," he adds in English.

"Laisse-t-il, Gilbert," Adrienne chides. She has this way of smiling like she knows a secret. It makes her look mysterious enough that Alex took to her immediately, but it also has the advantage of turning Lafayette into a besotted puddle. "Où est Jean?"

"Je m'occupe bien sans Jean! Je fais beaucoup de choses sans Jean!" Alex says, throwing his hands up. "Tous le temps! Why does everyone keep acting shocked that he's not right next to me?"

"I only ask because I have never seen one of you without the other," Adrienne says demurely in English, and Alex feels suitably chastised. 

"Ne t'inquiète pas à cause d'Alex, il dépérit," Laf tells her.

"I'm not pining! I've done nothing pine-y, you just keep...projecting your pining on me or some shit."

"Pauvre Alexandre," Adrienne says. "Est-ce qu'il retourne bientôt?"

"Sept heures ou à peu près," Alexander mutters. "Whatever. I don't care, I'll see him when I see him. Are you going to the school today?"

Lafayette nods. "In an hour or so."

"Can I get a ride? I've got labs to grade, and I want to go to the library."

"You can have a ride if you leave me alone to my call."

"Fine." Alex turns back to Adrienne. "C'est toujours un plaisir de te parler, Adrienne. Je te prie de rapeller Gilbert que nous avons des règles à propos du sexe Skype et il est obligé de nettoyer après qu'il a fini." 

Adrienne laughs so hard she doubles over out of the screen, even as Lafayette smacks and shoves him repeatedly.

"Hamilton!"

"Just saying!" Alex laughs.

"There is no rule--not that I--" He glances back at the screen, where Adrienne is sitting up again and wiping away tears of laughter. "We wouldn't be--" He blushes even darker, which just makes Alex's smug grin even wider. "The point is, if there was such a rule, you and John would have broken it dozens of times over."

"John and I don't have to have Skype sex," Alex says patiently. "We just have regular sex. And there's no rule about that, so...."

He jumps up from the couch and retreats back into the bedroom before Laf can respond ignoring the string of French curses that follow in his wake. He rifles through his and John's belongings for clothes and a generally clean towel, then escapes into the shower so he doesn't have to listen to Lafayette and Adrienne's lovey-dovey call. He usually does some good thinking in the shower, but sleeping didn't cure him of the full-body itch he can't shake, the feeling that his skin is too tight and that something is missing and that it's a little harder to breathe than usual. He's too distracted to outline any of his papers in his head or go over possible blog topics, and that distraction melts into something else when he catches a whiff of John's shampoo, and his body immediately jumps into its usual physical response to that smell.

Which, okay, it's only a little weird to jerk off to the smell of your boyfriend's shampoo, right? That's probably...mostly normal. Ish.

When he's clean and dressed and packed and ready, he wanders out into the living room and is immediately met with a smack to the back of his head. It's hard enough that his ears ring.

"What the _fuck_?"

"Skype sex?" Lafayette says flatly.

"No judgement," Alex says. "Distance sucks."

"Adrienne is _not_ my girlfriend. We have had this discussion many times."

"You're going to get married and have devastatingly attractive babies with amazing hair," Alex says, and Laf hits him again.

"I should make you walk to school," Lafayette says, "But I understand you are lashing out because you're pining." He gestures for Alex to follow him out of the apartment, and Alex glares and flips him off before heading out and down to the parking lot.

Burr is in the lab once they get to campus, but he doesn't do more than glance absently up at them when they come in. Alex instinctively looks over at John's desk, but of course it's empty. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I have an interview to conduct after lunch and will be having dinner with the Washingtons," Lafayette says. "I can drop you home on my way to the interview, or you can find your own way."

"John'll be home by then," Alex says. "I'll be fine."

"Ah, I will be sure to stay away from the apartment so as not to get in the way of your reunion, then."

Alex flips him off again, half-heartedly, but he's tired of arguing over John's absence and his reaction to it. The whole thing is stupid--his friends mocking him, the listlessness and anxiety he feels without John within arm's reach, the feeling in his chest that won't go away, like there's something missing, the way that he can't think about anything else and hasn't been able to for the past twenty-four hours. He'd like all of it to be over now. If this is the baggage that comes with having friends, having people to rely on, maybe he doesn't need those human connections after all.

He slowly makes his way through putting together an experimental chemical compound that mostly does what he wants it to do and might be worth trying out at their next exorcism. He breaks for lunch around the same time as Burr, and they order a pizza together. Burr is even either nice enough or bored enough to let Alex talk through the entire break, although he does leave right afterwards. 

Without a very precise chemical recipe to hold his focus, Alex's to-do list peters out not long after lunch. There are still almost three hours until the trip is due back, and Alex has a stack of labs to grade, but they're boring as hell and aren't holding his attention. Nothing is holding his attention, actually. He can't focus on reading or even writing. He refreshes the internet idly and then forces himself to do some grading, but it's not long before his attention wanders back to clicking through the ParaSearch forums or checking his blog comments or pacing the room aimlessly. He keeps looking at the clock, which is ridiculous. It's not like looking at the clock is going to make Washington and John get back any sooner. It's not like he doesn't have a stack of papers to grade. But he's lonely and jumpy and he'll just...feel better when John is back.

Weird. It's weird. That's what the past day and a half has taught him--having friends is weird. 

He gives up any semblance of pretending to work when the vans pull back into their spots outside. The doors open, and he hears John's voice, and something inside of him that's been off-kilter for the past two days snaps back into place. He shifts back and forth on his feet impatiently. He won't let himself run out to meet them, but it seems to be taking forever for the undergrads to disperse. Eventually, he hears John and Washington move from the parking lot into the building and then after another age, the hallway door swings open. Washington and John are talking about the trip, discussing student behavior and what sort of project should come out of their experiences. The conversation takes them into the lab, and Alex bolts for the door, pulling it open before Washington can even take out his keycard.

"Mr. Hamilton," Washington says. He takes a step back in surprise, but Alex isn't looking at him.

"Hey," John says, his face breaking into a grin.

"Hi," Alex says and throws himself at John, who laughs and drops his bags in order to catch Alex. "Jesus, I've been bored out of my fucking mind." Bored isn't exactly what Alex has been, but he's not sure what the word is. He's _missed_ John. Maybe that's it. John's been _missing_ , and that John-shaped space in his chest has been empty. Because, sure, he had Herc and Lafayette last night and even Burr at lunch, but they couldn't fill that space--it wasn't the same.

Friendship is really fucking weird. Dating is even weirder.

"Great, then you've probably caused an international incident," John grouses, but he kisses Alex happily while he trips backwards, laughing, as he takes Alex's weight. The sound does something to Alex's chest. and he knows that John probably has to like, debrief or something, but he'd really like to get him home and get him out of his clothes as quickly as possible. John's arms wrap around his neck and they kiss again, John's mouth smiling against his own. Maybe John missed him, too.

Somewhere behind Alex, Washington clears his throat, and Alex forces himself to pull away from John, even though every muscle in his body protests. He turns around. He knows he should be embarrassed, but having to stop with the kissing to listen to Washington seems like more of a nuisance than anything else.

"Mr. Laurens," Washington says, "I'll see you at eight am on Monday to finish the evaluations. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

"Sorry, sir," John says. "Thank you."

John grabs his bags off the floor, and once he's standing, Alex jumps on him again.

"Alex!" John laughs. "Save it for when we get home. Get your shit, and let's get out of here."

Alex reluctantly lets go of John and pops back into the lab to get his things. He shoves his phone and the pile of lab papers in his bag, grabs his hoodie, and rushes back out to the hallway. John is holding his keys, and Alex only barely restrains himself from pouncing a third time. He doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with him.

"Fuck, I missed you," Alex says as they head out to John's car. "I was fucking crawling up the walls."

"I was gone a _day_ ," John says. 

"Closer to two!" Alex insists, but John just shakes his head.

The ride back to the apartment is quick enough, but Alex can't keep his hands to himself. He plays with John's hair and taps his fingers against John's thigh and waits impatiently for John to pull the car into the parking lot and slip it into a space. Then all bets are off--John barely has time to grab his messenger bag and lock the car before Alex is pulling him by the hand into the building. He doesn't even bother taking his duffle bag out, which is good, because it means he has a hand free to curl around Alex's jaw and pull him close. They kiss in the empty elevator and stumble down the hall once they're on the right floor. Alex hopes that Lafayette is still out because he's pretty sure he'd rather jump John immediately with an audience than wait for a moment alone.

The apartment is blessedly empty once they unlock it and tumble inside. John is laughing again, and the sound of it isn't any less appealing than it was in the hallway at the school. They immediately start stripping each other, or trying to--their hands crossing the space between them to push off jackets and grapple with shirts as they stagger across the living room towards the open door to their bedroom. 

"What is up with you?" John asks as he twists out of the shirt Alex is unbuttoning.

"I don't know!" Alex says. "It's just...I _missed_ you. I don't understand it, it was just like...all day I wished you were with me, even like, during class and times you normally wouldn't be. It was all I could fucking think about. Is that normal? Is that like--I mean, I've never had friends before, not really, but it's just fucking intense. It's like a full-body ache of missing, you know?"

John slows down and sits on the edge of the bed abruptly. His face is suddenly shuttered.

"I do," he says quietly, but Alex steams forward, stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes.

"But I don't feel that way about Lafayette and Herc. I mean, they're great, but I don't go out of my mind like this without them. I don't know, maybe it's just because we're always together, and I'm used to having you around, but I've never felt this way before. I thought I'd stop having this big stupid crush on you when we started dating, but it's just gotten worse--I think every stupid thing you do is so fucking cute. It's like I'm obsessed with you or something. That's probably weird and creepy, but being apart _sucked_ and it was all I thought about all day and it's like...just this feeling in my chest. My whole body. Like my ribcage was hollowed out or something, like a part of me was missing, but it was a you-part specifically, you know? Like super-specific loneliness. I needed _you_ , not just a random other person. Not even in a sex way, just in a...in a _you_ way."

He looks up as he unbuckles his belt. John is oddly pale. He's sitting stock still on the edge of the bed, shirtless, with his hair hanging loose around his shoulders. He's beautiful, even with the wide-eyed, closed off expression. Alex thinks he's maybe never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He thinks maybe he never will, dizzy, suddenly, with affection.

"What's wrong?" 

"Alexander, are you trying to tell me you're in love with me?" John asks softly.

The realization hits Alex like he’s stuck a fork in an electrical socket.

"Holy shit!" he says. "I am!" Jesus fuck, how the hell did it take him so long to figure that out? "That's what it is! That's what--I'm in love with you! That's why!"

John does not look as overjoyed by this discovery as Alex feels.

"Alex--" John starts to say, and then stops. "You can't be in love with me."

"No, I definitely am!" Alex insists. "I can tell, I just hadn't--I've never had friends, and I've definitely never had like...a significant other. Not like this, just, you know, casual stuff. But now that you've said it, I am absolutely in love with you." It feels _awesome_. And it puts the last thirty-six hours in very clear perspective. 

"You can't be," John repeats. "You don't know me. And I'm not...." He trails off, and Alex's heart stops.

"You're not in love with me?" he asks. This is the second time in as many weeks that John has said Alex doesn't know him. It's only been two months. Maybe he's right, maybe he's--but no. No. Alex is as sure of this as he's ever been sure of anything. He's in love with John Laurens. He's absolutely in love with John Laurens.

"No," John says quickly. "It's not that. It's...I'm not...a good person. There are things about me you don't know, there's all this...baggage. It would change what you think of me."

Alex doesn't hear a word after "no." His smile slowly returns.

"So you are in love with me!" 

"That's not--"

"If you're not _not_ in love with me, then that means you are."

"I--Alex," John pleads, but Alex just sits down next to him and grabs his hands. 

"Are you?" Alex asks.

"I--yes," John says. "For fuck's sake, yes, obviously, _of course_ I am, you're a fucking genius and you're funny and you're gorgeous and you're the most passionate person I've ever met. Of course I'm fucking in love with you, you asshole."

Alex’s shit-eating grin threatens to split his face in two.

"Awesome," he says. "So shouldn't we be celebrating this?"

"Are you listening to a fucking word I'm trying to say?"

"No," Alex says honestly. He drops John's hands, but only so he can get up and straddle John's lap instead. John looks flustered and overwhelmed when Alex stares down at him, but there's also this look in his eyes...just this glimmer that's been there almost from the start. This part of him that spoke to Alex in a way nothing ever had before.

Fuck, of course he's in love with John Laurens. He should have figured this out an age ago.

"I think," Alex says, cupping John's face between his hands, "that you aren't having nearly the right reaction to this."

"Alex, if you knew me--"

"I do," Alex says. "What the hell do you think you're saying, that I don't know you? I live with you, I spend every minute of every day and every night with you, I know how you think and how you react and I've seen you lost in your head and I've cleaned your bloody knuckles after seeing you beat the shit out of people. I know what each of your little thoughtful noises mean and how to interpret all your weird hand gestures and the face you make when you want coffee but you're too lazy to get up and get more. You held me through panic attacks. You told me about your family. What the fuck do you think you could tell me that could change my mind about you? So you had a falling out with your shitty dad and did stupid shit in boarding school and have this like, fucking poor little rich boy routine. So you're depressed and anxious and it brings you down sometimes. I know that; I don't care. I mean, if I love you despite your really fucking horrible taste in movies and beer, what could you tell me that would make me stop?"

Something of it must be getting through to John, because he just shakes his head and says, "You're such a fucking asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do, actually."

"A complete and total fucking shithead."

"Yeah, but you love me."

"I do," John agrees, and Alex knows an admission of defeat when he hears one. He shoves John back until he's lying on the bed, flat on his back, with Alex still sitting above him.

"Then let's stop talking about it and do something about it," Alex says. 

"If I put my dick in your mouth, will you stop talking?" John asks.

"I mean, historical evidence would prove otherwise."

John laughs, and it rings through Alex's chest, lights up his body like a drug. Of course, of course he's in love with John. Fuck. There's a reason none of his other friends make him feel this ecstatic and invincible.

"I bet the sex is gonna be fucking amazing now," Alex says as John tugs him down until he's propped on his elbows over John, chest to chest, his hair falling in a curtain around their faces. This close, he can see the flecks of color in John's eyes and each individual freckle. 

"Are you saying it wasn't before?" John asks. He smiles slowly and presses his hand to Alex's cheek. Alex shivers.

"I think it could be better."

"Is that a challenge?"

As it turns out, Alex is right--the sex is fucking amazing.

The after is pretty great, too. It feels _stupid_. They're just lying there, staring at each other, grinning like idiots, but Alex is...happy. He's really, really happy. Everything feels _right_ for a moment, like every part of his body is tuned into the right frequency. He's not worried about what he needs to be doing today and tomorrow and next week and next month. He's not obsessing about his future and making a name for himself. He's not even _talking_. 

But he's happy.

And, okay, maybe he can only stop himself from talking for so long.

"Are you happy?" he asks John.

"Today?" John asks. Alex nods. That's a weird question. "Yeah. Today I'm--happier than I've been in a long time."

"Good," Alex says. "When I asked you if you loved me--you didn't even have to think about it. How long have you known?" 

"Just a couple of weeks," John says. He reaches over to brush Alex's hair off his forehead and behind his ear. His fingers linger on Alex's face; his touch is feather-light. "Remember the day Washington asked me to TA for Steubs? We were talking about which one of us is the mom of the group, and you said that Lafayette doesn't care about you the way I do. And I thought, 'Well, that's true, Lafayette doesn't love Alex like I do.' And then I backed up and...freaked out a little bit, internally."

"I _knew_ you had been acting weird," Alex says. "Well, weirder than usual. And even after we talked about all that stuff with your family, you were still acting weird."

"You caught me," John says. But he still doesn't look as relaxed as he could be. Come to think of it, if John's known for ages, Alex's admission should have been a weight off his shoulders.

"Except, if you already knew, why did you freak out when I figured it out?"

John rolls onto his back and pulls the blanket over his head.

"For fuck's sake, we just talked about feelings like, a lot. I told you the other week, I need at least a month off from this shit."

Alex pokes him gently through the blankets over and over again until he sighs and emerges, scowling at Alex. It's fucking cute and always has been, which should have been the first sign Alex was in trouble.

"Hey, come on," Alex says. He takes John's hand and John lets him keep it, even as he rolls back onto his back and stares unerringly up at the ceiling. 

"Being connected to someone else...feeling this way...it's scary," John says quietly. "I've never--I thought, a couple times before, that I might be in love. But comparing it to this is--this is new and it's, it's _everything_. You're in every single part of my life, every single part of _me_. It's huge. And if it was just me, that's fine, but reciprocated...I can hurt you. And I probably will. And that's so fucked up."

"Do you want to hurt me?" Alex asks.

"Of course not. But intent is bullshit. I always hurt the people I care about--I have an unbroken twenty-three year streak. And having that much power over someone--you having that much power over me--how are you _not_ scared shitless?"

Alex rubs his thumb across John's knuckles as he tries to figure out how the fuck to reply to that. He knows without asking that it's the family that disowned John that's inspired his shitty self-worth and how fucked up he is about feelings and talking and relating to other people. He doesn't know _what_ happened that made John this way, but it's pretty fucking annoying, and while he took it as his duty to shake John out of it before, he figures now that they've acknowledged their mutual feelings, it's his _job_.

"I'm a little scared," Alex admits. "Because if you have an unbroken twenty-three year streak of fucking over everyone you love, then I have an unbroken twenty-one year streak of getting fucked over by everyone and everything I let myself love. But what's the alternative? I already feel this way. You already feel this way. It's not like we can turn it off. And we can either cultivate it and work to nurture it or we can ignore it and pretend it isn't there and let it sour. And I don't want the second thing, do you?" He squeezes John's hand and John squeezes back.

"No."

"Well, then we're in agreement," Alex says. "So we do this and we talk--which I know you fucking hate, but tough shit--and we try to take care of each other and--listen up, shithead, because this part is important--we do our best to take care of ourselves. And we let this thing happen. Because it feels great, doesn't it? You can't tell me it doesn't feel amazing." John sighs, a short huff of air that's born more out of exasperation than anything else. Alex grins and rolls onto his side, staring at John expectantly. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're fucking annoying?" John asks.

"Yeah, everyone I've ever met including you, like, every day," Alex says, and tugs on John's hand until he rolls over with a groan. His expression is scrunched and awkward--he's embarrassed, because of course he is, because he's John Laurens and god forbid he tell someone what's going on inside his head. "You're a fucking idiot, you know that?"

"You've mentioned it," John says, rolling his eyes.

"Well, you're my fucking idiot, at least," Alex says. John makes a soft sound that might be a laugh and Alex reaches out to stroke his temple and his cheekbone and the side of his throat. "Come here."

John chews on his bottom lip for a moment, but when he releases it, he leans in for a kiss. Alex takes it slow; this one isn't about lust or excitement, but reassurance. He tries to be gentle with every slide of their lips, every drag of his fingers across John's cheek and throat. They're sharing a pillow, sharing breaths, and Alex can swear he feels John's eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. Whatever they're doing, it's new and different than it's ever been before, and they both know it. Alex can feel it in his chest, beating in his heart. He can feel it in John's pulse racing beneath his fingertips. They've been serious before and they've been deliberately tender before, but this is something else entirely. Alex can barely catch his breath. 

When they part, Alex watches John's face, the nervous slant of his mouth, the way his brow wrinkles and he keeps averting his gaze and then forcing himself to look back at Alex.

"Hey," Alex says. "Hey. What's wrong?"

John either laughs or sobs or wheezes, or maybe it's some combination of the three.

"I'm fucking terrified," he says.

"It's just me," Alex says. He presses his forehead against John's and curls his hands around either side of John's jaw. "Don't be scared, it's just me. I already love you, so you can't scare me off, and no one else has to know."

John closes his eyes and exhales slowly. 

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I can...okay. Just you."

"Nothing changes. Nothing's different. I'm still here. You're still here. We're fine." He lets go of John's face so he can hug him instead. John exhales shakily into the curve of Alex's neck.

"We're fine," John agrees. He wraps his arms around Alex and relaxes bit by bit as Alex strokes his hair and back, until he's boneless, draped sleepy and content against Alex, raw and naked in a way that he so rarely is. Alex loves it. He stays awake long after John drifts off to sleep just so he can look his fill, or as near to his fill as he can get before he falls asleep, too.

Nothing much changes in the morning, except there's a different energy between them, something private and new. John spends breakfast telling Alex and Lafayette both about his immersion trip and the stupid shit the undergrads did, and Lafayette reads them off a list of new equipment he wants to test, and John and Alex fight over the last of the orange juice, and everything is just like it's always been, save for the burst of warmth that flashes through Alex every time John meets his eyes.

Lafayette is piling dishes in the sink when Alex gets up to jump in the shower. John grabs his wrist before he can leave.

"Hey," John says softly. 

"Hi," Alex says. He twists his wrist so they're holding hands, fingers intertwined. John is quiet for a moment, staring down at their joined hands.

"I just wanted to say," he says finally. He looks up at Alex, meeting his eyes. "After all that...stuff, I did mean it. Sometimes I just get stuck in my head."

"No shit," Alex says. John rolls his eyes.

"Sometimes inside my head isn't the greatest place to be, and I get fucked up about it. It has nothing to do with you. All that shit, it's not because--I don't want you to think it's your fault, or that it changes how I feel about you. I do love you, okay?"

There's an abrupt clatter of dishes from the sink, but John doesn't flinch, so Alex doesn't either.

"Yeah, I know," Alex says. "I love you, too."

He almost wishes he could see the look on Lafayette's face, but not as much as he's happy to memorize John's in that moment--shy and a little embarrassed, but firm in his conviction. His concern blooms into a smile so bright that Alex feels warmer just looking at it. He's sure his own smile is just as earnest, just as pleased. He feels lighter, happier, and he thinks John does too. 

"I was going to take a shower," Alex says, squeezing John's hand.

"Oh, really?" John asks. "You sound like you might need a hand with that."

Alex grins. "Is that a pun?"

John raises his eyebrows. "There's only one way to find out."

"You're both ridiculous!" Laf yells after them.

They both ignore him, Alex dragging John towards the bathroom, stopping next twice in the short trip to kiss and laugh into each others' mouths. He knows this doesn't solve anything--John's low self-esteem, how tired he is all the time--but it's a start. And that's good enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Friday: dinner with the Washingtons! Certain issues come to a head! John really loves Washington's dogs! Same bat time, same bat channel.
> 
> And the French translation:  
>  **Adrienne:** ...but she was ridiculous and I told her that. Good morning, Alexander!  
>  **Alex:** Hello, Adrienne, How's Paris?  
>  **Laf:** Mind your own business (literally 'keep your onions'). Go away.  
>  **Adrienne:** Leave him alone, Gilbert. Where's John?  
>  **Alex:** I keep busy without John! I do lots of things without John! All the time! Why does everyone keep acting shocked that he's not right next to me.  
>  **Adrienne:** I only ask because I have never seen one of you without the other.  
>  **Laf:** Don't worry on Alex's account, he's pining.  
>  **Alex:** I'm not pining! I've done nothing pine-y, you just keep...projecting your pining on me or some shit!  
>  **Adrienne:** Poor Alexander. Will he return soon?  
>  **Alex:** Seven hours or so. Whatever. I don't care. I'll see him when I see him.
> 
> Later:  
>  **Alex:** It's always a pleasure to speak with you, Adrienne. Please remind Gilbert that we have rules about Skype sex and he's obliged to clean up after he's finished


	8. Chapter Seven: The Road to Hell....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex does a shitty thing for the right reasons. John reacts about as well as you'd think. Martha wins a bet. Lafayette just wants to watch his show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WE MEET AGAIN. I have nothing particularly witty or engaging to say today. I love your comments, they literally make my day. Everyone who comments is absolutely my favorite person, for real. Thanks again to **leiascully** for the lil bit of French in here.

The Sunday before Halloween features some of the strangest walks of shame Alex has ever been witness to. He spends most of the late morning and early afternoon installed at a table on the second floor of the library overlooking the quad, and looks up periodically to see people in smeared makeup and bedraggled costumes stumbling from one building to the next. When the team had returned to campus last night after their case, Alex could hear the party raging on at the Student Center even though it was already nearly one am. Twelve hours later, it looks like the party has barely stopped for some people. If this is what the weekend before Halloween is like, he can't imagine what's in store next weekend.

In between working on his midterm, people-watching out the window, and answering blog comments, he wanders in and out of the computer lab where John is working. Sometimes, when the library is empty and John's supervisors are in a good mood, Alex will camp out at whatever desk John is working at and do his research there. Today isn't busy, exactly, but it's busier than John's usual six am shifts, so Alex contents himself with brief visits whenever he needs to stretch his legs.

"You look exhausted, babe," he says around two. John's shift is nearly at an end, and the circles under his eyes seem to have grown over the four hours he's been sitting in the computer lab.

"It's the sitting still," John insists. "If I could get up and move around more, I could wake myself up."

Alex doubts that. John's the walking embodiment of sleep deprivation these days, and sooner or later, Alex is gonna have to confront him about it.

"Do you wanna skip dinner?" Alex asks. "Lafayette can bring me over, or I could stay home with you if you want?"

"I'm fine," John lies flagrantly. "I'll be fine. The whole point is for us to go through Washington's books and papers, it would be stupid to skip. Plus, wasn't that the benefit to switching shifts? If I cover this afternoon, that means I can sleep in tomorrow."

"Still. I can bring the books home," Alex says. "Seriously, if you--"

There's a tap on the window, and they glance over; John's supervisor smiles ruefully at them through the window. She looks like she's had better Sundays--Alex wonders if she was at the Student Center last night.

"You should go," John says. "I'll be done in like, forty-five minutes, and we can head over to the Washingtons'."

Alex sighs and reaches out to brush his thumb along the dark circle under John's left eye. The lab is nearly empty--there are two students working quietly in the back row. Still, John's supervisors are universally awesome about letting Alex hang around 90% of the time, and he doesn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.

"I'm upstairs in study carrel B-7," Alex says. "Stay awake. Love you." It's almost embarrassing how much Alex likes saying that out loud now that he's identified the emotion.

John flashes him the tiny, private smile that means he's bashfully pleased. "I'm finishing a library shift, not going to war," he says, but adds, "I love you too."

As promised, John appears on the second floor forty-five minutes later. His bag is slung over one shoulder, his hoodie is tucked under his arm, and he looks just as exhausted as he did before, but Alex can tell there's no way he'll win that battle. Instead, he just gathers his books and follows John out to the parking lot and into his car so they can head over to the Washingtons' for dinner.

John does perk up a little once they get to the Washingtons', mostly because Washington is out in the front yard with Nelson when they pull up. He's barely turned the car off before he jogs over and cheerfully greets Nelson, dropping to his knees to let the dog slobber all over him. 

"Hey, Nelson," he coos. "Hey, buddy. Oh, it's good to see you too, boy! It's so good to see you!" 

On the very short list of off-putting things about John Laurens, the fact that he talks to Washington's dogs in a baby voice ranks near the top.

"You're gonna make me get a dog one day, and you're gonna talk to it like that, aren't you?" Alex says, staring down at John, who's still sitting in the grass with his arms around the mutt, his nose buried in its yellow-white fur.

"I can't believe you don't like animals," John says, without looking up. "Or, I guess, I can't believe that I know you don't like animals and I still let you put your dick in me." He tips his head back to grin up at Alex. He still looks fucking exhausted, but he's happy too, and that's always been a good look on John.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," Washington says as he approaches them. There's a chewed up frisbee in his hand that seems to catch Nelson's attention for a split second before he goes back to blissfully licking John's face and rubbing against him. Alex can relate.

"Sorry we're late," Alex says. "John had to work." John, who has now devolved into rolling in the grass with Nelson. What the _fuck_?

"Don't worry about it, we're not on a deadline," Washington says. "Martha and Gilbert are doing a puzzle."

A puzzle. Jesus christ. All of his friends have lost it. 

He nudges John's shoulder with his toe. "What are you, five? Come on, man."

"Fuck off," John says cheerfully, still vigorously scratching Nelson behind the ears. "He's an asshole, isn't he? But you're a good boy." All in the baby voice, still. 

"Now I'm starting to wonder why I want to put my dick in you in the first place," Alex says. Washington sighs, but that's hardly the most inappropriate thing Alex has ever said in front of him. Strange to think that just a few months ago he was putting on his nicest shirt and his best manners to have lunch with Washington for the first time.

John rolls to his feet reluctantly, and Nelson jumps up on him a few additional times before Washington snaps his fingers and the dog trots over to him instead.

"You're so weird," Alex says, and he should have predicted what happens next, but it's too late. 

John hugs him tightly from behind, rubbing up against him. "But you loooove me," he says as Alex struggles to get free.

"Ew, stop! Ugh, I should have known this was going to happen!" His back is going to be covered in dog hair and slobber, and John has his arms pinned too well for him to get away.

"I just want to be clooooose to you." John twists around until he has Alex in a headlock, which is really unfair considering John could probably pin him one handed and Alex gets winded walking groceries from the car to the elevator in their building. He scrabbles helplessly for a moment until John decides he's made his point and releases him.

"You're an asshole," Alex says, shaking himself back into some semblance of order. 

"Yup," John says, breathlessly laughing a little as he brushes the grass off of himself. "I'm gonna get my bag from the car, I'll meet you inside."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex mutters, grinning. He follows Washington and the dog into the house where, jesus christ, Lafayette _is_ doing a puzzle with Mrs. W. It has hot air balloons on it. Alex feels fifty years old just watching them.

"Good afternoon, Alexander," Mrs. Washington says, looking up from the puzzle. "How are you today?"

"Good, thank you," he says, flopping onto the couch opposite Mrs. Washington and Laf, who are sitting on the floor around the coffee table.

"And how is your better half?"

"He's fine," Alex says automatically. "He's getting his bag out of the car. He's--" Alex actually stops to think about it for a second. "He's actually kind of not fine. He's exhausted. He's working too much, and I say that as someone who sleeps four hours a night and has three jobs."

"That sounds less than ideal." Mrs. Washington's tone is calculating, the same way it is right before she sends them home with a ton of leftovers and some of her kids' old sweaters that she "just happened" to find around the house.

"Tell me about it," Alex sighs, but the door opens again before he can elaborate, and John ducks in from outside with his bag slung over one shoulder.

"Good afternoon, John," Mrs. Washington says. "You're looking a bit peaky. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you," John says, the big liar. He smiles at Mrs. Washington and then sits next to Alex, letting his bag drop to the floor in front of the couch. "Just a little tired."

Alex makes a skeptical noise and John shoves him without looking away.

"You've still got grass in your hair, come here," Alex says. He tugs John's sleeve until he turns so Alex can pick the blades of grass and leaves out of his curls, one by one. It's maybe an excuse to play with John's hair, not that he really needs one. "Rolling around in the grass with the dogs, jesus. I love you, but sometimes I question my own taste." John elbows him in the ribs.

"Ah," Mrs. Washington says, "so _that_ happened." Alex twists to glance at her, confused, but she's looking at Washington, eyebrows raised, smiling a little.

"Mmhm," Washington says. Alex looks back and forth between them, but no further explanation is forthcoming. Lafayette, still sitting cross-legged in front of the puzzle, is smiling down at the table. Something weird is going on, but he has no idea what.

"Well, I'll leave you boys to your reading and studying," Mrs. W says, looking back at Alex as she gets to her feet. "Dinner should be in a couple hours, but I'll be back in a minute with snacks."

"That's really unnecessary, ma'am," John says.

"If George is going to invite you over to study, I'm certainly going to feed you up," she replies. "It's just good manners."

"Speaking of." 

Washington ducks out of the room and returns a moment later with a stack of three crates of books, placing them down on the floor next to the table. "Thank you for saving me the trouble of taking these over to the university. You can borrow whatever you'd like--I've already removed the two titles that Mr. Burr requested."

Alex stops himself from making a face. It could be worse, Burr could have taken Washington up on his offer of joining them for this study session/free meal. "Good to know."

"I'll be in my office working on a paper should you need anything else," Washington continues. "Gilbert knows where to find me."

"Thanks again, sir," Alex says.

"Yeah, thank you," John says.

Confronted with boxes of books and papers, the three of them stare for a long moment before Alex gets off the couch and pulls the lid off the top crate.

"Okay," he says. "So we're looking for post-war and the move to reshape parapsych to fit the new American dream?"

"Yes," Lafayette says.

"And the intersection of the civil rights movement and the gutting of publicly funded parapsych services?"

"Yes," John says.

"And I'm looking for the early ‘80s recession and the return to traditional paranormal interventions. Let's get to work."

Although the crates aren't completely separated by subject, there is a lot of like-with-like, and it doesn't take them long to organize the materials to each of their final paper topics. There is, of course, a huge library of resources in the parapsych wing on campus, not to mention the actual library, but Washington's eclectic private collection is better than waiting for interlibrary loans and printing old journal articles off of JSTOR. They have the next six weeks to bleed their on-campus resources dry--this opportunity is limited to the times when their schedules align with the Washingtons'.

Alex loses some time to a series of articles following a Native American community that thrived as an alternative to publicly funded IP investigations only to have their methods stolen a few years later. When he looks up, there's a plate of nachos on the table, and another of carrot sticks, apple slices, and peanut butter. He takes a carrot stick and opens the next journal on his pile, skimming the table of contents until he finds the article he wants. His paper is already taking shape in his head, and his fingers are itching to start typing it, but he needs to do some more solid background research first. If he doesn't have enough sources to support his thesis, he's going to have to think of another angle. Either way, the twinge of frustration he felt at seeing the lengthy and in-depth final paper assignment has melted away--he's already wondering the best way to ask Dr. Washington if he's allowed to go over the page limit.

The article directly after the one he was notating catches his attention, and he stands up from where he's been sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch, stretching his stiff muscles. John's just closing a book and chewing on the back of his pen, and it's really no problem at all to take the book from John's hands and then plop himself on John's lap.

"What the fuck?" John says, pushing at his shoulder. "I'm trying to work."

"I know," Alex says. "I brought you a present." He presents the journal he had been notating to John with a flourish, tapping the start of a paper on minority communities that have sprung up in antiquated neighborhoods with low housing costs due to the misconception that older buildings are more likely to be haunted.

"Oh," John says. "That'll work perfectly in the third section of my paper."

"Yeah, it kind of intersects with mine, too," Alex says. "Sewall--this guy's written a book, right? A really old one?"

"Yeah, I have a copy of it at somewhere," John says. "Remind me when we get home tonight. Looking at this I'm mostly just mad that it's forty years later, and we're still surrounded by this myth that only old shit gets haunted."

"Seriously," Alex says. "I just need it to die already." He rests his cheek on the top of John's head, skimming the first page of the article. He likes the idea of including this in his paper, but it will be a tangent, and he's probably already pushing at least ten pages past the twenty page limit.

"So you just live here now?" John asks, poking his side. 

Alex was about to return to his piles of sources on the floor, but spite's a strong motivator. "Yup."

John sighs. "You're really fucking annoying."

"Vous êtes pitoyables, vous deux," Lafayette mutters from the other side of the coffee table.

"Yeah, talking shit in French doesn't really work when we're both fluent," Alex says, which just incites a long, colorful description of what Alex can do with his smart mouth.

"That would all be more insulting if he didn't do it regularly and enthusiastically," John says absently, petting Alex's hair as he skims the article.

"Huh, you know, I've never thought about how so many of our insults, as a culture, revolve around implied shame of homosexual acts," Alex says. "I mean, I love sucking dick, and you love sucking dick, but you still told me to suck eight dicks yesterday after I wouldn't shut up about you spilling coffee all over that hot barista, and we both understood it to be an admonishment."

"Alexander, I love you, but can we have this philosophical conversation at a time when we're not trying to make our way through three boxes of materials in three hours?" John asks without looking up.

"Not all of us have already drafted our papers," Lafayette mutters.

"It's not a draft," Alex says. "It's only like, twenty pages of notes. I still have a lot of work to do--I'm probably going to need double that, at least, before I start actually writing and then--"

"I'm getting a headache just listening to this," John says. He's being shitty, Alex knows, but there's also a telling, pained furrow in his brow, probably the result of working all day on only a handful of hours of sleep for almost ten days straight now.

"Fine, fine," Alex murmurs. "I'll shut up."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

Alex, because he is _endlessly forgiving_ , ignores the comment and kisses John's temple before climbing off his lap. He pulls together a few of the sources that look interesting and helpful, then camps out on the opposite end of the couch with his laptop and his stack of books and journals. If he's going to have time to expand his paper as much as he'd like, he should really be getting to work.

The three of them pass a solid hour working in silence, occasionally pausing to grab snacks from the table. When Alex sits down again with a new stack of books at the beginning of hour two, he notices John has abandoned his tablet and pulled out his sketchbook instead. The headache furrow is still carved deep in his forehead, and a pinched frown has joined it. He wants to say something--"go take a nap" or "let's go home" or "oh my god, you shithead, quit your fucking library job before you give yourself an ulcer"--but he can't imagine saying anything that will result in a productive conversation, and the last thing he wants today is to contribute to John's headache.

He sighs and cracks open another book, trying to put it out of his mind. They'll have a conversation soon--about John's nine hundred jobs and overworking himself and budgeting and maybe even combining some of their expenses. It's not like they don't already do everything together all day every day; sharing expenses would probably be more efficient. 

At some point, John pulls his legs up onto the couch and pivots so he's leaning against the arm and resting his sketchbook on his bent knees. At some point after that, they've both sprawled out enough that John's legs are tangled with his own. At some point after _that_ , Alex feels John's sketchbook bounce off of his knee and looks up to see John dead to the world, hunched over around a throw pillow, his weight resting mostly on Alex's calves. He looks beautiful and exhausted, and Alex is torn between wanting to hide him away from the world until the circles under his eyes start to fade away and shaking him until he starts taking better care of himself.

Every time he opens his mouth on the subject, though, he can't help but feel a little hypocritical. He has an extra job outside of his work at the university. He sleeps about four hours a night. He skips an occasional meal. He substitutes coffee for breakfast. He needs to be reminded to take writing breaks. But amid all of that, he's still _functional_. He can get through the day without looking like death, he can stay on top of all of his projects without burning the candle at both ends. Alex lives on caffeine and ideas, but the keyword there is that he _lives_. These days, John barely seems to be scraping by.

Later, though. He'll bring it up with John later. After his birthday, maybe. He has a couple days off this week, he can sleep, he'll get into a better mood, and Alex will broach the subject--again--and see what he can do to try and ease some of John's stress. For the moment, all he can do is avoid waking John from his nap and make sure he's in bed at a decent hour tonight. The rest of it will just have to wait a few more days.

John slumps further forward as the afternoon drags on and they continue to work, and Alex's range of movement gets correspondingly smaller until he has a curled up lump of John Laurens directly on top of his legs and any hope of slipping out is dashed. He sighs.

"Can you go grab that map for me?" Alex asks Lafayette, gesturing at a poster tube on the coffee table. 

Laf doesn't even look up. "Get it yourself, I am not your servant."

"I can't move, John's asleep," Alex says. He glances over at John again, but he's still dead to the world. His sketchbook has gotten wedged between Alex's leg and the back of the couch. Alex can see one of the pages sticking up, a detailed pencil sketch of Nelson curled up in front of the hearth. He can just about reach it, but he knows better than to risk looking through it without permission; John gets crazy about his art, cagey and embarrassed no matter how many times Alex praises him or tells him how good it is. Alex would rather not go back on his promise, so when he snags the book from the couch cushions, he merely closes it and snaps the elastic into place before tossing it in the direction of John's bag.

Lafayette groans theatrically as he gets to his feet, but he grabs the map tube and tosses it towards Alex. Before he can sit down, someone's phone buzzes on the table and they both look towards it. 

It's John's.

"Give it here, I'll turn it off," Alex says, and Lafayette rolls his eyes, but does as Alex requests. Alex catches the phone and illuminates the screen. He really does just mean to dismiss the text and then put the phone down, but, well...he can't help but be a little bit of a snoop. It's from John's library supervisor.

_Hey Laurens, I know you switched this afternoon for tomorrow morning as a favor to Liz, but Liz just called out for that shift, too. Any way you can cover your usual 6-10? Any time you can be in would be great. Thanks!_

Reading the text makes Alex's chest tighten. John needs to sleep. John needs to take a fucking break, and when _Alexander Hamilton_ is the one suggesting he cut back on work, he should fucking listen. He won't, though. He'll keep working himself to the bone to prove whatever the hell he needs to prove to himself.

But, for the moment, he's asleep. He doesn't know about the text. He doesn't _have_ to know about the text, actually. It's not like he's expecting it or expecting the extra hours or shirking his duties. Right?

He weighs the pros and cons for a moment, then decides, fuck it, it's John's fucking birthday week, and he deserves some breathing room.

He reaches over and carefully takes John's hand, which makes him fidget in his sleep.

"Ssssh," Alex murmurs. He strokes the back of John's hand gently, then slides John's thumb over the home button on his phone. The screen unlocks, and Alex gingerly replaces John's hand before opening his messages.

"What are you doing?" Lafayette asks. He regards Alex warily, a hint of a disapproving frown already curling his mouth downwards.

"Nothing," Alex lies, and types _sorry, I already have plans. hope you find someone!_ He mimics John's texting style as best as he can manage.

"Alexander," Lafayette says warningly, and Alex hesitates for a second, but ultimately brings his thumb down on the send button. When he looks up, Lafayette is glaring at him.

"I don't know what you did, but I can't imagine that John would approve," Laf says.

"John doesn't have to know." He'll fight Lafayette on this if he has to, and he hopes that's clear in his sharp expression. "It was the girl from the library--she wanted to know if he could work his usual 6-10 tomorrow morning."

Laf's disapproval falters slightly, and Alex dives for that weakness.

"It's his birthday week," Alex insists, quiet and urgent. "He hasn't fucking slept more than a handful of hours in a night since like, last Wednesday. He won't even know."

"I somehow doubt that," Lafayette says. "But I won't be the one to tell him. When he inevitably finds out, I will make it clear I did not approve of this in any way."

"He's not gonna find out," Alex says. John's phone vibrates again in Alex's hand. It's another text from the library.

_I figured that's why you switched. Have fun! See you Wednesday._

Once he's sure nothing else is coming immediately, he deletes the two texts she's sent, along with his response. He ignores the pang of guilt that settles low in his stomach. He knows, _knows_ , that John would hit the roof if he knew, but he also knows that while Alex has embraced dark circles under his eyes as a signature look, on John they just look sickly and sad.

He puts John's phone back on the coffee table and settles back onto the couch to take a closer look at the map that Lafayette handed him. The timing is perfect--he's barely started taking notes on it when Mrs. Washington returns to the living room, dishtowel in hand.

"Boys," she starts to say, but quiets when she sees John sleeping.

"It's okay," Alex says reluctantly. "He's on my legs, he's gonna wake up when I get up anyway." He demonstrates by slowly attempting to extract himself from the couch, only to have John twitch and then sit up abruptly.

"I'm awake!" he insists.

"Yeah, now you are," Alex says. John tries to glare at him, but it's ruined by a yawn.

"If you need to nap a little longer, dinner can wait," Mrs. Washington says. "There's nothing that can't be reheated later."

"No, no, I'm fine," John says. "I'm hungry, and I know you put a lot of work into dinner, which you don't have to do, so." He stretches and rolls his shoulders, allowing Alex to shift out from underneath him. "I'll be good in a minute, promise."

Mrs. Washington is skeptical, but she disappears back into the hall. Lafayette gets to his feet and stretches, his joints popping after hours curled up on the floor. Alex follows suit, but John is still rubbing his eyes.

"You can take a nap, seriously," Alex says. "You know Mrs. W won't care."

"I'm fine," John says. "Just...post-nap groggy, you know?" He pushes himself up and yawns again, then leans against Alex, hugging his waist. Alex curls his arm around John's back, John turning in to bury his face in the space between Alex's neck and shoulder. Alex can't say he doesn't appreciate how clingy and soft John gets when he first wakes up.

"Dinner waits," Lafayette says. He puts a hand on each of their backs and nudges them towards the dining room. 

They shuffle out of the room and down the hall, their arms still around each other. John keeps nuzzling Alex's shoulder, and they pause outside of the dining room when he yawns again, long and hard enough that Alex has to fight back a reflexive yawn of his own. Lafayette passes them, shaking his head, but he can't hide his grin from Alex.

"Hey," Alex says to John when he blinks up at Alex, on the verge of another yawn.

"Hi." John grins and lifts his head from Alex's shoulder to steal a sleepy kiss. 

Alex is effervescently giddy, struck, as he sometimes is, with the sheer enormity of how much he likes John, how just being in his presence lights something deep within him. Knowing that John feels the same way is like a high, something that goes beyond sexual and into this buoyant feeling that makes him want to wrap his arms tightly around John and never let go. He knows the Washingtons are just on the other side of the wall and that dinner's waiting, but he can't stop himself from pressing one more kiss to the corner of John's mouth before he releases him.

"If you were more awake you'd definitely be reminding me that the Washingtons can hear us," Alex says. Proving his point, John just laughs and hugs Alex closer for a moment. "I'm not complaining. I like you like this."

"You've discovered the secret to my squishy center, hidden underneath my shithead asshole exterior," John says.

"That would be sleep deprivation, then?" Alex asks. "It's not as much of a secret as you think."

"Shut up, smartass," John says, but if having John clinging to his middle is his punishment for being a smartass, it's not really a deterrent. "The secret is that I let you get away with all kinds of shit because I love you." John, he thinks, gets as much of a thrill from saying it out loud as Alex does.

"That's not really much of a secret either," Alex says. John snorts against Alex's collarbone and Alex counts to five, his nose pressed into John's hair, and then reluctantly straightens up. "Dinner?"

"Right." John straightens too, but he takes Alex's hand as they turn the corner and walk the last few feet into the dining room. Their shoulders bump together companionably before they part to take their seats. 

"How's the research going, gentlemen?" Washington asks once everyone is seated and Mrs. Washington has started passing around the food.

"Good," Alex says. "Thanks again for letting us go through this stuff. I have about a million ideas."

"Yes, well, let's try to keep it to within ten pages of the assigned limit," Washington says.

"I would like to get a few more sources down," Lafayette says. "With this week being what it is and next weekend being what it will be, I won't have as much time to do research."

"Do you boys have big plans for the week, then?" Mrs. Washington asks. 

Alex scoops carrots and green beans onto his plate and lets Laf, party planner extraordinaire, field this one.

"Tuesday is John's birthday," Lafayette says. "We've been planning festivities."

Mrs. Washington looks almost scandalized when she turns to look at John, who freezes with a fork full of pot roast halfway to his mouth.

"John, is that true? Your birthday is Tuesday?" she asks. 

John nods slowly, still half-asleep. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be twenty-three."

"I can't believe you haven't mentioned it before now!" she says. "I would have made a cake for tonight."

"Martha, leave the boy alone," Washington says. "I'm sure he has plenty on his agenda for this week."

"There's always room for more!" Lafayette says before John can say anything else. "The party is on Friday and we have lunch plans and after dinner plans on Tuesday and an additional dinner Wednesday night."

"Well, that settles it, then," Mrs. Washington says. "You'll come here for dinner on Tuesday and I'll make a cake."

"Martha," Washington says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Perfect!" Lafayette says and pulls out his phone, tapping away to add yet another event to his agenda. 

Sure enough, a moment later Alex's phone buzzes in his pocket with what he's sure is an update to the group chat they've been using to plan the week's events.

"While I appreciate the gesture, ma'am, there's really no need to trouble yourself," John says. He blinks rapidly, like he can't quite keep up with the conversation.

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Washington says. "What sort of cake would you like?"

"Really," John says weakly. "I don't want to be a bother." He looks to Alex for help, but Alex just shrugs. He's pretty in favor of people celebrating John and he's definitely in favor of Mrs. Washington's cake.

"Martha, listen to the boy," Washington says.

"Did you like the cake we had for Gilbert's birthday?" Mrs. Washington asks. Alex should have predicted that Lafayette was going to take birthdays seriously after the week of raucous celebrations surrounding his own back in September. The dinner at the Washingtons' was the most sedate of the events and it still involved a barbeque and a giant cake.

"It was wonderful, yes," John says a little desperately. "But--"

"He didn't like the raspberries," Alex interjects. He can feel John's helpless glare. "He picked his out and gave them to me."

"No raspberries," Mrs. W says. "Got it."

"And he likes chocolate." To John, he adds, "You only steal the chocolate pudding cups from Burr, you always leave the vanilla ones behind."

"Alexander," John sighs. He covers his eyes with his hand.

"Chocolate whipped cream cake it is," Mrs. Washington says. "I'll stop by the store on my way home from work tomorrow." She turns to Washington. "George? Be a dear and fetch the birthday calendar from the office. And, while we're at it, Alexander, you might as well give me yours."

Washington sighs, but he pushes away from the table and disappears down the hall, shaking his head.

"My birthday is January 11, ma'am," he says. "I'll be twenty-two."

"Excellent. I take it you'll be in town over the semester break?"

"I'm planning on it, yes," Alex says. "I don't have anywhere else to go, so." He shrugs.

"We'll have plenty of time to plan something for you, then," Mrs. Washington says, just as Washington reappears with a tall, slender spiral-bound pad. Mrs. W slides a pen out of the binding once he hands it to her and quickly jots something down, then flips forward a few pages and writes something else. "There we go. Now we'll have a little more warning in the future."

"It's really not--" John tries one last time, but Mrs. W hushes him.

"Eat your dinner, Mr. Laurens," she says. 

"Yes, ma'am," John says, resigned, and refocuses on his pot roast.

They chat about other things over the rest of the meal, John slowly becoming more alert as he eats. Afterwards, they take their dessert into the living room with them and spend another hour or so researching before it's time to pack up and head home. Mrs. Washington hands them all a stack of containers full of leftovers.

"We'll see you for dinner Tuesday," she reminds them. "No getting out of it."

"I will make sure we're here," Lafayette promises her.

"Thank you," John says to her, flushing and looking away. "I appreciate it, ma'am."

"It's no problem at all, Mr. Laurens," Mrs. Washington assures him. "You boys have a safe ride home."

Alex and John wave to Mrs. Washington and head out to John's car, leaving Lafayette to hug her goodbye before getting in his own. John doesn't start the engine immediately, though. He stares out the windshield for a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Something on your mind?" Alex asks.

"Just...birthdays," John says. "Mrs. Washington and her faith that we're going to be around long enough to be on her birthday calendar. I don't know." He turns to Alex and shrugs. "I guess I never thought, when I walked away from my family, that anyone would ever care about when my birthday was again." He smiles a little. "It's weird. But kind of nice."

"Yeah," Alex says. "I get it. We've only been here a few months, but I keep thinking about how everything here feels more real than my life leading up to it, you know?"

John nods and then turns back to the windshield, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he finally starts the engine.

Lafayette beats them home and he's already sprawled out on the couch by the time Alex and John get up to the apartment. _Criminal Minds: Paranormal Analysis_ is playing as he messes around on his computer. While John stashes their leftovers in the fridge, Alex weighs their options. John's still only half awake and if he's inevitably going to fall asleep watching something and pretending to work, Alex would rather it be in bed, if only so he can slip out after John falls asleep to do some more work of his own.

"Wanna watch a thing in bed?" he asks John. 

"Sure," John says. "Lemme get my laptop."

"While you 'watch something in bed,'" Lafayette calls over his shoulder, complete with air quotes, "please keep it down at least for the last thirty minutes of this episode. It's new."

"Literal watching," Alex assures Lafayette, until his eyes are drawn to the strip of lower back that bares itself when John leans over to unplug his laptop power cord. "Well. Probably."

"Half an hour!" Lafayette repeats, then turns back to the television. 

John is smirking when he rejoins Alex, power cord looped over his arm, his laptop in his hands. "I should have plugged it in before I left this morning," he says, hitting the space bar to wake it up. "But we should have enough power to--"

He stops and frowns at the screen, then shifts the computer so he can move the mouse over and click on something and--

Alex glances over at the screen and freezes as John pulls up Messages. Shit, shit, shit, he had forgotten that John's phone is synced to his computer, but if Alex deleted everything maybe everything is fine, maybe something else caught John's attention, maybe whatever is in Messages will disappear by the time John clicks to that thread.

"What the fuck?" John murmurs, mostly to himself, and it's too late, there's the fucking texts from the library, right on the screen, fuck the goddamn lag between his computer and phone fully syncing. John digs his phone out of his pocket and opens up his texts and stares at the discrepancy for a moment. There's always a chance that Alex will get lucky and John won't put the pieces together, won't be able to figure out why there are messages missing, why he doesn't remember having this conversation with the library girl.

Yeah, right. John's too fucking smart for that.

John stares at the phone and computer for what feels like ages. Alex tries to school his face into something bored and impatient, or at least neutral, but he knows he failed when John looks up at him and his own expression shifts from confused to surprised to angry.

"Alexander," he says, his voice surprisingly level and composed. "Why are there messages from Jo missing from my phone?"

"John--" Alex starts to say, but John keeps going.

"Why did someone tell Jo that I couldn't work tomorrow morning?"

"John--"

"Why was someone in my phone _without my fucking permission_?"

Behind them, the television shuts off.

"I can finish this in my room, I think," Lafayette says, and quickly slips past them and down the hallway, purposely avoiding Alex's eyes.

"John," Alex tries one more time. He goes to lay his hand on John's forearm, but John lurches backwards and out of his grip. He backs up all the way to the sofa and dumps his computer, charger, and phone all down onto the cushions, before looking back at Alex with a fire in his eyes that Alex has never seen before.

"Did you do it?" he asks bluntly. "Did you--I don't even know, answer a bunch of texts from Jo on my phone pretending to be me and then delete them?"

"When you put it that way--"

" _Alexander!_ " John has never taken that tone with him before. John has rarely even taken that tone with the random assholes he picks fights with outside of the Frog. He's shaking, and Alex knows he should feel guilty, and he does, and he knows he should feel ashamed, and he does, but it's so much easier to push past those feelings and seize hold of the quiet voice saying, _if John would just fucking take care of himself, you wouldn't have had to do it in the first place._

"Yes!" Alex snaps. "Yes, when your boss texted while you were fucking _passed out_ from overwork, so dead to the world that your phone didn't even wake you up, I told her you couldn't take another fucking early morning shift after you'd just rearranged your schedule to take one fucking morning off the week of your birthday."

"You had no right--"

"Someone has to take care of you!" Alex says, stepping into John's personal space. He forgets, sometimes, that he has an inch or so on John, forgets because everything about John is loud and reckless and overwhelming and it's easy to overlook that Alex, scrawny as he is, is actually taller than him. "You do a shit ass job of taking care of yourself, and since I want you to keep from going out of your fucking mind with exhaustion--"

"You don't get to make that decision!" John shouts before Alex can go on. He rocks up on his toes, bringing their eyes level. He's flushed and still shaking, his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles are white. "How do you not fucking get how...how _invasive_ that is, how _illegal_ that is, how fucking _betrayed_ I feel? For my own fucking good...do you hear yourself?"

"You're working yourself to death!" 

"You're one to talk, you fucking hypocrite!" John laughs, an awful, painful sound that's wrenched out of him. "You're fucking one to talk, you live on coffee, you sleep four hours a _night_ , you work _non-stop_!"

"And I have since I was a kid and I'm used to it, okay? That's how my fucking body works, I'm still functional, I can still do what I need to do--"

"When have I ever not done what I needed to do? When have I ever fucking fallen behind--"

Alex wants to shake him.

"It's not about you falling behind!" he shouts. "It's about you exhausting yourself, forcing yourself to stay awake, forcing yourself to take on more and more when you're barely managing to function, when you don't _have_ to!"

"Not all of us can ask strangers on the internet to pay our bills, Alex!" 

John's words tear through him, hit right in his most vulnerable place, a betrayal at least as bad as Alex sending a goddamn text from John's phone. He told John in confidence how strange he still feels about the fundraiser, whispered in the privacy of their bed that he had to do intricate mental gymnastics to be comfortable enough to ask in the first place, even with Mr. Stevens encouraging him.

"That money's been gone for a while and you know it." Alex manages to keep his voice from shaking as he says it. He turns that awful, churning feeling around and spits out, "If you spent two minutes making a fucking budget or planning out your month, maybe you wouldn't have to kill yourself working extra jobs all day every day with shit hours, but I figure you didn't get much practice budgeting when you had a fucking endless bank account to waste however you wanted! Fuck you, John. I'm fucking trying to help! Jesus!"

"When I'm trying to kill myself you'll fucking know it!" John snaps. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Alex asks, his heart just jumped into his throat and he’s pretty sure he knows.

"You're a genius, you fucking figure it out!"

"John--"

John won't let him finish. "And you're not trying to help, you're fucking trying to dictate my life the way you think it should go! If I wanted someone to manipulate my future, I would have fucking stayed with my dad!"

Another low blow, but this one feels less like something he can turn around and hurl back at John and more like nausea. Jesus, this is spiralling out control, out of both of their control, they've both gone too fucking far.

"Just fucking calm down and let's talk about this," Alex says, holding a hand out defensively as he takes a step towards John, like he's approaching a wounded animal.

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down!" John shouts. His voice cracks on the last word. "Don't act like I'm the one who did something wrong! You violated my privacy, Alexander! You don't get to fucking talk your way out of it!"

"That's not what I'm trying to--"

"That's always what you're trying to do!" John looks around the room, his hair whipping back and forth before his eyes settle on what he's looking for. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck this, and fuck you." 

It's his keys; he was looking for his keys. He surges forward and grabs them off the table by the door, grabs his bag, and storms out of the apartment before Alex can do anything more than start to say, "Where are you going?"

The slam of the door echoes through the room. Through the whole apartment, apparently, because Laf comes out of his bedroom just a few moments later, eyebrows high on his forehead, his mouth curled into a frown.

"I told you--"

"Don't _fucking_ say 'I told you so,'" Alex snaps. He paces a circuit of the living room, then another tight circle before giving up and running his hands through his hair and hissing through his teeth. "Fucking...fuck!"

He collapses onto the couch, narrowly missing John's laptop and phone. Because he left his fucking phone, of course he did, he's going to get into some kind of horrible accident and not even be able to _call_....

Lafayette picks up John's things from the sofa and piles them neatly on the coffee table before sitting down next to Alex. They're both silent for a moment, Alex's ragged breathing the only real sound, the silence John left in his wake ringing in Alex's ears.

"He's not wrong," Laf says eventually, once, Alex assumes, he's sure that Alex won't deck him. "You're not wrong either--he is overworking himself to a point that's unnecessary. But the solution is not to manipulate him behind his back."

There's that word again. Is that really what John thinks, what Lafayette thinks? That he's trying to manipulate John?

"I don't know how else to help!" Alex says. "If I mention it or ask or offer any suggestions he just ignores me or changes the subject."

Lafayette makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement and they're dropped back into the silence.

"I am not one to ask," Lafayette finally says. "I don't understand it either. But you should ask Hercules. This summer, when John and I would reach, ah..." He snaps his fingers uselessly. " _Impasse_?"

"That one's the same in French and English," Alex says.

"Right," Laf says. "When we would reach an _impasse_ about money, Hercules was the one who relieved the tension. I thought you would know better, seeing as you are also--"

Lafayette snaps his mouth closed, eyes wide, looking absolutely mortified. A small part of Alexander feels triumphant about that--Lafayette is just as much of a shithead as he and John are, even if he likes to pretend he's above them sometimes. It's nice to see him fuck up carelessly and get ruffled.

"Seeing as how I'm poor too?" Alex suggests. Laf nods weakly, not meeting Alex's eyes. "Yeah, I don't know. I mean, I get pride and I get, you know, being ashamed of how little you have. But he's weird about it even to me. I think it's different when you grow up with it. Or maybe it's just different to him because his dad is so fucking tied up in everything. I don't fucking know."

He still has whiplash from the argument, from the speed at which John went from betrayed and hurt to furious and cruel. He's always known that John has the capacity for cruelty, though so far it's only shown itself in darker moments out of self-defense, but even the barbs that slipped out when John was depressed and hurting didn't cut so deeply. His heart aches, both from the high, broken sound of John's voice as he stumbled away from Alex's touch and from the easy way John threw his own insecurities back in his face. He was hurt, he was wounded, he was embarrassed--but none of those words sound right, nothing he can think of in any language sums up the sharp, throbbing pain that rushed through him as quick as the adrenaline that sparked the argument louder and brighter until it collapsed in on itself and John fled.

Two thoughts occur to him in rapid succession.

"You don't think--what he said, 'you'll know when I'm trying to kill myself'--he wouldn't--" This time, Alex knows exactly the words he wants to use, he just can't bring himself to say them out loud. He looks at Lafayette pleadingly.

"--kill himself out of spite because he's angry with you?" Lafayette suggests with enough skepticism that Alex immediately feels stupid for even asking.

"Yeah, okay," Alex says. "You're probably right. But still, that implies...." But, really, it doesn't imply anything that Alex hadn't already suspected, or at least wondered. John and his dark moods and the panic attacks that he's talked about having and his insistence that he's not a good person...it's not...surprising...to think of John attempting to--

It's not surprising, but it is terrifying.

Still, Lafayette is right, he wouldn't do it out of spite to prove a point to Alexander. The other thought that occurred to him, however, is more plausible.

"And...people fight," Alex says carefully. He doesn't look at Lafayette this time. "People who love each other fight. He's not--we didn't--it'll be okay, right?"

Lafayette is quiet.

"Right?" Alex repeats, a little more desperately, forcing himself to look at Lafayette despite the onset of panic rattling behind his ribs.

"Are you asking if I think John wants to break up with you?" Alex nods and Laf rolls his eyes in a way that drains the tension right out of Alex's shoulders. "I am not John, Alexander. I cannot tell you what he is or isn't going to do, I don't know why you would think I would have more insight into your relationship than you would, since you are in it. But, having lived with both of you for two months, I have honestly come to the conclusion that you can't function without one another, so I doubt it."

Alex breathes out. His stomach unclenches and he leans back against the couch.

"What do I do now?" He glances over at Laf, even though the question is largely rhetorical. Laf's got his phone out and is firing off a series of texts, frowning at the screen.

"I am texting Hercules," he says. "He hasn't seen John, but he knows to look for him." He sits back and sighs, placing his phone on the couch beside him. "We should really get the number of the bartender at the Frog. Molly?"

"Maggie," Alex corrects automatically. "She's gay."

"I meant so that when John loses his cool, we can check in on him," Lafayette says. "You know our John--I'm sure he's looking for someone to hit. But if he doesn't have his phone and he isn't with Hercules, our options are limited. He's an adult. He will come home eventually." Laf doesn't look like he's entirely at peace with that, but even Alex knows he's correct--unless they want to aimlessly wander the streets looking for John's car, they can't do anything but wait him out.

Lafayette leans over to snag the remotes for the television and DVR off the table and then turns them back on. "For the moment, with nothing else to do, I'm watching the show your argument interrupted. You are welcome to join me, but only if you stop asking me questions about your boyfriend and relationship that I can't answer."

Alex can think of half a dozen witty rejoinders, but given how patient Lafayette is being about this whole thing, he holds them back for the sake of their friendship. He doesn't particularly _want_ to sit through an episode of _Criminal Minds_ with Lafayette, even if it's fun to poke holes in the shitty parapsych work on the show, but he doesn't want to sit alone with his feelings either, so he gets up to collect his laptop and then returns in the hopes that trying to get some writing done with the television on in the background will be enough to keep him from obsessing over the fight with John until--

Well. Until whenever John decides to come back.

He focuses on his blog for most of Lafayette's show, looking up only occasionally to join Lafayette in mocking the more outrageous depictions of parapsych field work. Once the episode ends, Alex sinks back into his laptop and he barely registers Lafayette changing the channel. When he next looks up, Lafayette has turned off the television and is headed to bed. Alex glances at the front door, automatically, but John's keys and bag are still missing from their usual place. 

"He will be home eventually," Lafayette assures Alex. 

"I know," Alex says, but when he tears his eyes away from the door, Lafayette is shaking his head and heading down the hall to his bedroom.

And Alex does know that John is coming home, that this was a dumb fight, that everyone has dumb fights, that something will give and things will work out, but it still _sucks_. He hates not knowing where John is. He hates thinking about all the stupid things that could happen to him, things that Alex wouldn't even know about because John doesn't have a phone. His car could break down or he could get into an accident or get thrown in jail overnight or get kidnapped or get hurt....

He can't let himself think like that, but the words of his blog post slip from his mind like sand through his fingers. He can't grasp the concepts he's writing about anymore because his mind keeps returning to John, to a mixture of catastrophizing and replaying their argument over and over.

Because Alex had a point, a good point. John is absolutely overworking himself, he absolutely needs to stop and reassess and plan instead of working himself raw. Alex is _worried_ , and he doesn't worry lightly. He knows the importance of hard work and the drive to tirelessly press forward to prove yourself. He understands the need to build your own legacy. And all of that should make it even more obvious to John that he's doing too much--if Alex, king of sleepless nights and over-commitment, is telling him to slow down, he should fucking slow down.

At the same time, he knows what he did was wrong. He knew it was wrong while he was doing it--he wouldn't have hidden it, otherwise. And he knows how poorly John reacts to being handled and it was really inevitable that this argument would happen. John is maybe, _maybe_ , right to be upset.

It's a little after eleven when Alex finally hears footsteps in the hall and then the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock. John doesn't look at Alex when he comes in, he just drops his keys on the table next to the door and stows his bag next to it. He look marginally calmer than he did when he stormed out, but still distinctly unhappy. 

He sits down on the couch next to Alex, eyes still turned away. 

Alex can only take the lingering silence for so long. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," John says. Alex watches John weave his fingers together over and over again. "I'm still really pissed at you."

"Yeah," Alex says.

"I was gonna stay with Herc, but I didn't have my phone and I didn't wanna just show up out of nowhere."

"Oh." Alex waits for John to elaborate, but when he's met with silence, he adds, "Are you...going over there, then?"

"No," John says. "I don't really want to sleep alone. I just want...." He sighs and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and hanging his head. His hair falls down, obscuring his face from view, not that he was looking at Alex anyway. Trying to get John to talk about what's on his mind is difficult at the best of times. 

Alex chews on his lower lip for a moment, then decides to go for broke. "Tell me what you're thinking?" he asks softly.

John laughs. It's not quite as painful as the way he laughed earlier, but it's still tired and sad.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking, Alexander."

"I do," Alex says. "Because I can't figure out how to make it better unless you tell me. And I want to make it better."

John sits up and leans back against the sofa, covering his face with his hands. Alex has to curl his own hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching John's arm or brushing his hair back.

"I'm thinking that I'm so mad, still," John says. "And I'm thinking that I'm not as mad as I should be, and that just makes me madder, but mad for the wrong reasons, which just makes me feel stupid and shitty. I'm thinking that--that I wanted to trust you so badly. That I wanted to...to...I don't know. I'm thinking of a hundred excuses for what you did and how much I hate that I'm making excuses for you, because I love you, but if you break into my stuff and go behind my back with this, what's to say you won't do it with anything else?" He drops his hands and turns slightly, just enough that his shoulder is digging into the back of the couch and he's half-facing Alex again. His eyes are bloodshot, because just in case Alex didn't feel bad enough, there's definitive proof that he fucking made John _cry_ over what a shitty boyfriend he is.

Fuck.

"Mostly," John says, "I'm just so, _so_ fucking tired."

"I know," Alex says. He doesn't add _that's the fucking point!_ because he's learned at least a little from their earlier argument. 

John closes his eyes. "I said some things to you...I'm sorry. I didn't mean them--I don't mean them."

"It's okay," Alex says. "I was cruel, too. I could have...phrased a lot of that better."

"Yeah," John says. He scrubs his face with his fist and then opens his eyes again. "I have a crappy feeling that what comes next is the part where we have to talk about it."

"It is," Alex says, but John makes no effort to begin that conversation. "What alternative do you think we have to talking? If you don't want to talk, I mean."

"You psychically infer why I was upset, understand what you did wrong, apologize, tell me I was right, and we immediately move on and never talk about it again?" John suggests. He smiles a little, at least. Just a little, but something deep in Alex that's been wound up tight since their argument finally loosens.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," Alex confirms. "We're gonna talk."

John rolls his eyes, but once again offers no start to the conversation.

"Walk me through why you're upset," Alex finally says.

"Why? Why do I always have to do this with you, Alexander?" There's no bite to John's words, none of the anger of before. He's resigned, exhausted. He closes his eyes again and rubs his forehead. "Jesus, isn't this conversation excruciating enough?"

Instead of shooting off some glib answer, Alex takes a moment to reflect, to choose his words carefully. 

"Because I've never done this before," he says. "I'm not great with people. I can figure out what people want to hear, but I can't reverse engineer it into why. And most of the time, that doesn't bother me, but I need to get it right with you. I need you to explain it to me because I don't know how to react if I don't know what's really going on in your head, and you're too important to lose over a stupid miscommunication. I need to be honest, I guess. So I need you to be honest, too."

"You're important to me too," John says. "And I do want-- _need_ you to be honest. That's why this whole thing is so--" He stops himself as his voice starts to rise in volume. He sighs. "Let me start over. I'm angry because you violated my privacy. You read my texts without permission, you responded impersonating me, you tried to make decisions about my life without consulting me, and then you hid it from me. You did all that and then you fucking...held my hand at dinner and told me you loved me and acted like nothing had happened, like you hadn't just betrayed my trust."

Alex can practically see John's skin crawling, read the urge to run away from his conversation in his eyes. He's still here, though. He can't look Alex in the eye and he can't stop fidgeting, but he hasn't run. That’s a positive.

"Okay," Alex says. "I understand that. And I--" He stops himself from saying 'I'm sorry.' He's not sure if he is. "Okay."

"And--" John stops talking as quickly as he started. "Never mind. I just--"

"No, don't 'never mind,'" Alex interrupts. He reaches out and stops himself from touching John at the last moment, his hand hovering in the air awkwardly. "What were you going to say?"

"You don't want to hear it," John says.

"I'm asking," Alex insists. "I want to hear it. I need to hear it."

"We're going to be here all night," John says, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Then we'll be here all night." He softens his tone as much as he can manage. "John. Hey. Come on."

John opens his eyes again, though he doesn't look at Alex. He looks more sullen than angry, now.

"Making my own choice is important to me," he says eventually, still looking away. "It's...it's all I have anymore. I made a choice between taking my life into my own hands and staying with my family. I didn't make that sacrifice just to have someone else start pulling the strings in my life. Even if it's you. Even if it's because you say you love me. I'm sure my dad thought the same thing."

Okay, maybe John was right. Maybe he didn't want to hear that.

"I'm not--are you seriously comparing me to your shithead father?" Alex asks.

"In this very particular instance...yeah. And, I don't know--I don't know, maybe my dad didn't love me. Maybe that's what was at the heart of all our shit throughout the years. But he claimed he was trying to do what was best for me, and he never cared if it was what I wanted. He never asked. And I didn't leave that to go straight to someone else who would do the same thing."

"John--I wouldn't!" Alex insists.

"You _did_ ," John says sharply. He finally looks at Alex again and Alex has to fight the urge to turn away. "You knew I wanted to do one thing, so you went behind my back and fixed it so I would do something else. I don't understand how you don't get this, Alex, how you can't see the fucking fundamental reality of what you did."

John is holding his gaze for once, and every second that their eyes meet, Alex feels smaller and smaller. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was wrong when he did it. And maybe his good intentions don't count for as much as he thought they would.

Shit shit shit. He hates being wrong. He hates _admitting_ that he's wrong, hates the creeping feeling that starts at the back of his neck and radiates out, hot and tight. But, fuck, he just told John how important honesty is to him. He just told John how important _John_ is to him. He has to do this.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't--I never meant that. And I know intentions--I know that doesn't matter. But I just want you to be okay. I just wanted you to have some breathing room. But--you're right. It was wrong and I knew it."

John doesn't look triumphant at his admission or even satisfied. He looks just as tired as he was when he walked in the door.

"I'm sorry, too," John says. "About the other things I said. About--I know what that fundraiser meant to you. I know how complicated it was. I never should have--that was wrong." He looks down at his hands, picking idly at his nails. "I don't know why I say these things to you when I'm upset. I don't know why I always try to hurt you."

Alex has an idea or two about that, but there are more pressing matters to attend to, first.

"The other thing, though," he says. "The--you're not--you wouldn't, right?" John glances up, his brows knit together. He knows he should say the words, that saying "suicidal" isn't going to bring the roof down on top of them. Still. "You haven't--haven't tried--?"

Alex watches the meaning of his words slowly dawn on John, who looks away again as soon as he understands.

"That was a low blow, too," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have said that."

"That doesn't answer the question," Alex says. The hairs on the back of his neck are starting to stand up as John is quiet for the longest minute of Alex's life to date.

"Some stuff happened when I was a kid--" He stops. "It's really not--" He stops again. Looks up at Alex. "The thing they don't tell you is that it's not always about making a plan that you intend to follow through with. A lot of the time, it's just thinking about how much easier everything would be--for you, for everyone--if you just...weren't."

That doesn't comfort Alex as much as he thinks John wants it to. He makes himself take a breath and then another. Keeping his fear off his face is hopeless, he knows, and it _is_ fear--he spends almost every waking second with John, and he knows that's not particularly normal or healthy or even wise, but it's the life he's settled into and the idea of losing that is....

"Things wouldn't be easier for me if you weren't," is what he says.

"I know," John says. He mostly sounds like he believes it, but, more importantly, he reaches his hand out towards Alex and allows Alex to tangle their fingers together. "It's not--it's not something you have to worry about. I shouldn't have thrown it in your face. Like every other fucking thing in my life, it's better now that I don't talk to my dad anymore."

"Yeah?" Alex asks. He winces at how desperate the word sounds when it tumbles out of his mouth. John nods. "Promise?" Another nod. "Seriously?"

John rolls his eyes at that one and, strangely, that makes Alex feel better.

"You're not gonna trick me into giving another answer by asking the same thing over and over again," John says, with just enough of his normal impatience that Alex can center himself. There's John. That's still John, buried under there. He's still there.

"You'd be surprised," Alex says, admittedly a weak joke, but John chuckles a little anyway and Alex takes that as permission to move closer. He shifts across the couch until he's close enough to let go of John's hand so he can push an errant curl behind John's ear. 

"I have a thing I want to say now," Alex says. "You said your piece and I want to say mine."

"Alex, I don't think I could stop you from talking if I tried," John says. Every word he speaks in that half amused, half exasperated tone, every second that goes by where he's smiling just enough for the heart of him to shine through, Alex feels more and more confident that they'll be okay. 

"Shut up," Alex says, recognizing that this is the time to be familiar and jokey, not to admit he would do anything John asked of him. "What I did was wrong. And I understand that. And I didn't realize how wrong at the time, but looking back I get it. I'm sorry for going behind your back, for betraying your trust. But the reasons why I did it--they don't excuse it, but it's something that needs to be addressed. We need to talk about it. We've needed to talk about it for a while, but whenever I bring it up, you brush me off."

"I can already tell this is going to go well," John mutters. He looks down, away from Alex. Alex raises his hand to nudge John's chin back in his direction until they're looking at each other again.

"I'm serious," Alex says. "I did a really shitty thing. I shouldn't have done it. I won't do it again. But I did it because I fucking love you and seeing you like this all the time--exhausted, stressed out, trying to keep half a dozen plates spinning at once--hurts me." He can tell John wants to look away, but the hand on his chin is keeping him in place. Alex is not above clinging to that advantage. "It sucks, watching you like this. And I get it on some level--I've been there, I've juggled school and work and wondered if I was gonna make enough to afford food. And that's kind of the point--I've been there, I've worked this whole thing out before. I know how to make this work and I want to show you. I want to help you. But you need to let me."

"Alex," John finally says. "This is just--the whole thing is really fucking complicated and you have no idea--"

"Bullshit," Alex says. "I know it's uncouth to talk about money or whatever, but we literally have exactly the same expenses, except for your car. We live together, we split practically every meal, we're in the same program on the same stipend with the same incidentals. And I get that it probably sounds condescending and I get that you're determined to do this all on your own and I get that it's culture shock, but I don't _care_ about any of that." He drops his hand and John, of course, immediately stares down at his lap. "I care about you getting headaches and walking around with bags under your eyes and falling asleep in class and shaking from the amount of coffee you drink and looking like you're going to work yourself to death!"

He forces himself to stop and take a breath. He wants to shout, but he can't, he can't, he tried that and it didn't work. He needs John to listen to him, not to get angry again. He wants to make John look at him again--take him by the shoulders and force him to make eye contact--but John is tense and stiff and he's not sure his touch would be welcome at this point.

"I appreciate that you care," John finally says without looking up. "I--it really does, um. Mean a lot to me. That I'm so important to you, I mean. But I have to do this on my own. I have to--I need to make my own way. I promised myself that if I left, I'd make my own way. You of all people should understand that--I can't let myself rely on someone else." He glances up at Alex--he's not angry, at least, though he still looks exhausted. "I can do the work. I can get it all done. I've been getting it all done. And I'm tired, but--tired isn't gonna kill me. It hasn't killed you." He raises his eyebrows pointedly, but Alex is already shaking his head.

"I know you keep saying I'm a hypocrite, but I made it _work_ ," Alex insists. "If you were sleeping four hours a night and still functional and awake and and living your life and not getting migraines all the time, then whatever, I wouldn't care. But you're not. And it's our first semester and I just--fuck, John, I want to _help_. That should be the takeaway from my stupid fundraiser: sometimes it's okay to accept help when you need it. I love you so much, John--you know that. It's killing me that I can help you and you won't let me and you're suffering because of it."

He reaches out and takes John's hand, a gamble that pays off. John allows the contact, even links their fingers together. He's still quiet, still not looking at Alex, but Alex has said his piece and he's not sure there's more to say that isn't just rehashing the same points over and over again. He hopes he stayed calm enough, even enough. He doesn't know what he can do after this, outside of taking John by the shoulders and shaking him.

"I'm not great at help," is what John says when he finally speaks. He's scrutinizing his fingernails, and from the expression on his face, they're somehow disappointing. "I'm not great at--I need to do this. I need to prove to myself that I can do this. I can't go from beholden to one person to beholden to another. I promised myself that when I made my decision--if I left my family, my dad, it was going to be to make my own way."

"I'm not talking about paying your bills for you or anything like that," Alex says. "I'm talking about, I don't know...pooling our incomes. Sitting down and looking at our expenses and making a shared budget. We do everything together already--we might as well do this. Even your car stuff--you fucking drive me everywhere, I should be chipping in for gas and...whatever else you do with cars." He grabs hold of John's hand again and squeezes it. "I'm good at this, John. This was my job growing up and I'm really fucking good at it and it wouldn't be a burden or a sacrifice for me to help you."

There's the barest slump to John's shoulders, just a slight sag. Alex holds his breath. He's not sure if this means he's won or if it just means that John is so tired he can't sit up any longer.

"Alexander, we've known each other for three months," John says, still staring at their joined hands. "You can't seriously think that combining our incomes is a good idea. Some people don't even do that when they get married."

"Yeah, well, we moved in together the day we met. It's not like we don't have a history of being impulsive at this point," Alex says. "Baby, I swear, I'm not trying to swoop in and throw money at your problems. I'm not your dad, I don't mean it like that. I mean--I've been living like this my whole life. Let me teach you what I know, okay?"

He makes himself stop talking. He wants to keep going, to keep saying the same things, talking in circles until John gives in, until he _understands_. It won't do any good, though, and he recognizes that, even as his stomach rolls in the ensuing silence. What happens if John doesn't agree? Do they just keep living like this until he collapses from exhaustion or stress? Does he just stand by and watch this person he loves _so much_ run himself into the ground?

John sighs. His shoulders slump more. He squeezes Alex's fingers. Alex holds his breath.

"Okay, how about this?" John says quietly. "I'll make you a deal--at the end of the semester, I'll sit down with you and we can...talk through trying to figure all of this out. But until then, you have to shut up about it, okay? No more pleading looks, no more stupid comments about the library, no more telling me how tired I am and how I need to work less. Let me live my fucking life and we'll talk after finals. Okay?"

It's really not. It's really not what Alex wants at all--finals are still six weeks away. But it's better than nothing and more than he expected, even if it wasn't as much as he wanted.

"Okay," he says, and John looks up at him and visibly relaxes. "Okay. I can do that. I just--I want you to be happy and healthy. That's all. I hate seeing you like this." He strokes John's cheek with his thumb. Under the freckles, it's still red and blotchy from the anger of their fight, but there's simultaneously a sallowness to his skin, too. He looks a mess. He's still beautiful to Alex, he's always beautiful to Alex, but god, does he hate seeing him like this.

"I know," John says. "I know you do. But it's still my life, Alex."

"It is," Alex admits. John sighs and flops back on the couch, head tipped back. 

"Jesus fuck, I was not expecting to deal with any of that shit today," he says. Alex moves to curl up against him, but freezes. Are they done? Are they through fighting? Is this okay again? As if sensing his silent questions, John turns his head and frowns at Alex, then gestures for him to come closer. Alex moves eagerly, slips right back into John's personal space and hugs him. John clings to him just as tightly, shifting around until he can bury his face in Alex's shoulder. "I hate fighting." Alex can't help his snort of laughter, so John amends, "I hate this kind of fighting. I hate it when it matters. I'm so fucking tired."

Alex presses his face into John's hair. "Me too." This fight was so different than any other sort of fighting he's ever done, shouting about parapsych or politics. This _hurt_. He's not tired, though, not exactly. He's more jittery than anything else, still riding the adrenaline of the fight and the ensuing anxiety. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"Yes," John says, but he doesn't move.

"Did you want to go to bed in our actual bed?" Alex asks.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," John mutters. He disentangles himself from Alex and Alex immediately regrets their decision to move. It only takes John a second to push himself to his feet, though, and then he's reaching out for Alex's hands and pulling Alex up after him.

In the bedroom, they go through an abbreviated version of their bedtime routine. When Alex comes back from switching his contacts out for his glasses, John is already curled up under the blankets in the middle of the bed, apparently foregoing brushing his teeth. He smiles at Alex, exhausted but still so sweet that Alex feels his heart clench. He hurries to join John--he doesn't imagine he'll be sleeping anytime soon, but at least they can cuddle until John falls asleep, which looks like it might be any second now. 

"It's weird," John murmurs once they're settled, swaddled in a mound of blankets, legs tangled together, John wrapped in Alex's arms. "I'm not...not upset. I forgive you and I'm over it and we're good, but the part that hurt...it still kind of hurts. But right now, I just don't care. I just...this is more important." He closes his eyes and nestles his head against Alex's shoulder. "It's so much more important."

"I know," Alex says. He wants to say more--to tell John that this is the first time he's ever fought with someone like that, maybe, or to reiterate that's sorry but he's not wrong, or to remind John that he loves him, he loves him so much, that's the only reason he did it in the first place. But even Alex can tell the time for talking is past. He presses his faces into John's hair and breathes in, holding on to John tightly until his breathing evens out and his heartbeat becomes measured and steady. He keeps holding on a little after that, even, until he's sure that John is long asleep. Until he's held, if not his fill--he doesn't know that he'll ever get his fill of holding John--at least enough to quell some of his lingering anxiety.

He makes sure that John is tucked securely into the blankets once he slips out of bed and maybe lingers a little too long watching him sleep. He pulls himself away eventually and heads back out to the living room, where his laptop is still sitting on the coffee table.

He means to get some work done, but his mind keeps rolling back to John. Alex is still too keyed up to sleep, but his brain is one-track tonight, apparently. He has three different blog post drafts open and two papers and he can't focus on any of them. It's been just a little over two months, which hs knows is peanuts in the scheme of things, but he still feels like he's known John forever already. He keeps thinking about what John said, how a part of him still hurts, but it's just not as important as settling things between them. He wonders how long he's agreed, how long he's realized the sum of their parts is stronger than they are individually. Because that's what it is, really--they can be hurt and upset, but that doesn't change the thing between them. It's strong enough to withstand something as stupid as an argument, as life shattering as it felt at the time. They're brilliant on their own, talented and smart, but their best solo effort doesn't hold a candle to how well they work together.

The desire to say more, to talk to John, once again overcomes him, but after fighting over John's sleeping habits, he can't exactly shake him awake to talk him through these thoughts and ideas, this affection, this sudden understanding of all that they are, all that John as become to him. 

He stares at his screen for a moment and then starts closing tabs.

Fuck it. If he's not going to stop thinking about John, he might as well put it to good use. He opens a new email message and taps in John's address and tabs into the body of the email. He stares at the blinking cursor and then lets his heart take over.

_Dear John,_

_I've spent my life up to this point distant from my peers and merely cordial to those I considered friends, or at least acquaintances. And then I met you. All of you, really, Laf and Herc included, but mostly you. It's strange to think that for all I see you every day, for all I tell you every day, for all that I make every attempt for my actions to convey the truth just as strongly as any words, there is no tangible, physical record of how very much I love you....  
._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're winding down! On Monday: an exorcism. That's right, after Monday I'll stop bitching about the exorcism on Twitter all day every day. Hurrah!
> 
> French Translation: _You're both pathetic_.


	9. Chapter Eight: There Was a Snap in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Shithead performs their first exorcism. John turns twenty-three on the roof of their apartment building. Alex has a nightmare, and then a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Twitter for nagging me to finish this exorcism. Thank you to **metonymy** for the last minute second pair of eyes on said exorcism and continued thank you to **littledust** for juggling her important real life AND editing this monstrosity ♥
> 
> There's a section of this chapter that leans heavily on a song by The Mountain Goats called "Going to Port Washington." It is also the song the fic gets its title from.

John's phone alarm startles Alex from dozing to fully awake when it goes off around nine on Monday. He jumps a little, even as it seems to take all of John's energy to reach under his pillow and grab it to turn it off. Alex probably shouldn't be so amused by how disoriented and sluggish John is in the morning, especially knowing that it's because he's so dangerously overworked, but he can't help it. He fishes his glasses off the floor on the side of the bed to see it more clearly, even.

"Morning," Alex says. 

John grumbles something in response, then rolls over, blinking slowly up at Alex. "Ugh," he says more clearly. 

Alex grins and shakes his head, settling back in amongst the pillows and blankets, close enough for John to stubbornly sprawl across his chest in lieu of actually sitting up. He makes a nice elbow rest, propping up Alex's arm when he grabs his own phone and starts backreading Twitter and his email. John wakes up bit by bit, and by the time Alex is up to date on Twitter, John's awake enough to unlock his phone and catch up on social media. Alex moves on to a longread on structural inequality in public sector parapsych work and he's about halfway through it when he feels John shift and looks down to meet his confused gaze.

"Did you write me an email last night?" he asks.

"Yep," Alex says.

"While I was sitting right next to you?"

"Well, I was in the living room and you were asleep, but essentially yes."

John blinks. "Do you...want me to read it?"

"No, I want you to ignore it for the rest of your life," Alex says, which maybe isn't his snappiest comeback, but he's only slightly more awake than John is.

"No, I just mean--" John rubs his eyes with the hand that isn't holding his phone. "Do you want me to read it...you know, while you're right here?"

Alex shrugs. "Sure. Or later. Whenever. It was just some stuff I was thinking about while you were sleeping and I wanted to write it down so I didn't forget to tell you."

"Okay," John says. He settles down again and Alex goes back to his article. He makes it through another couple paragraphs before John makes a quiet, wordless sound.

"What was that?" he asks, looking down at John again. John...isn't actually looking at him.

"Um, this is...this is...not what I was--um." 

Alex puts his phone down and pets John's hair, which makes him shiver. He's not entirely sure what the problem is. "Are you okay?" 

John does look at him then, or at least look towards him. He doesn't meet Alex's eyes and his face is bright red.

"This is...about me," John says, waving the phone at Alex.

"Yeah, and...?" Alex says.

"I thought it would be about work or something," John says. He's still not making eye contact. "This is...this is like...a love letter?"

"Yes?" Alex says. "Seriously, man, are you okay?"

"I just...um. I wasn't expecting...."

Alex waits for him to continue. "Do you _want_ to read it without me right here?" he says when it's clear John's not actually going to continue.

"No!" John practically squeaks. "No, I just...I wasn't expecting it." He looks away again, curling around his phone, his head once again resting on Alex's chest. Alex shakes his head and goes back to his article.

For a moment. Because pretty soon, watching John becomes a lot more interesting. His reaction gets progressively more physical--he goes from just blushing with wide eyes to grinning so wide his face might split to chewing his lip to covering his face with his hand. Alex knows when he's done, because he drops the phone and covers his face with both hands, curling tightly in on himself.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks again, his own phone forgotten.

"Yes," John says from behind his hands.

"Do you like...need a minute?"

"Yes.” He pauses. “No."

"That is...two contradictory answers," Alex says.

"I just...this is really embarrassing."

"What I wrote?"

"No, my...reaction to it. I'm trying to be cool and like...really failing."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Shut up, I literally can't look at you right now. Jesus."

He should cut John a break, as delightful as his blushing, bashful squirming is, so Alex reverts to reading his phone and petting John's hair until John sits up and takes Alex's phone from his hand. His skin is still flushed from his cheekbones to halfway down his chest, and he still can't quite meet Alex's eyes, but he has no problem tossing Alex's phone to the side and straddling his lap. He regards Alex's face for a moment, then gently removes his glasses and kisses him.

And kisses him.

And kisses him.

He sinks his fingers into Alex's hair and presses as close as he can manage, urging Alex's mouth open, sighing into it, gently biting his lower lip. It's strange because it doesn't feel sexual. Normally, when he has John on his lap, half naked and kissing him breathless, it's very clearly a prelude: his pulse races, his stomach bottoms out, and arousal starts to radiate out through his body. Something about this is different, though, and he finds himself simply holding on, his arms wrapped around John's waist, keeping him close but not pushing anything else.

When John finally pulls away from the kiss, he wraps his arms around Alex's neck and hugs him tightly. "I love you too. I can't...write you anything like that. I'm not that talented. But you know I do, right?"

"Of course," Alex says. He rubs John's back absently. He is, admittedly, a little thrown by this. "You don't have to do anything. Like I said, I just started thinking and I wanted to write it down before I forgot."

"You _just_ started thinking," John says with a disbelieving laugh. "Jesus. We were good, you know that, right? After the fight yesterday?"

"No, I know," Alex says. "This didn't have anything to do with the fight. Except, I mean, you were on my mind because of it, but you're always on my mind, so."

John laughs again and pulls back just far enough to cover his face with his hands. Again.

"Alexander. Christ." 

"Am I doing something wrong?" Alex finally asks. "Because you're losing your mind this morning and it feels like it's my fault."

"No, no, no, you're not," John says, dropping his hands to hold onto Alex's shoulders. He meets Alex's eyes, red as a tomato, which is fucking adorable. "You just...you say these things. You just say these things. Without any hesitation or irony. And I just--I'm not used to that, I don't know how to handle that."

"I can stop?" Alex offers. He's still not precisely sure what he's offering to stop, but John whips his head back and forth immediately.

"No! No, it's fine--it's more than fine, I...like it." His gaze shifts away again. Alex can nearly feel the heat radiating off his face. "I'm just...it's not what I'm used to. I might need to be a little weird about it."

"'Might?'" Alex says. John looks up entirely so that Alex can see him roll his eyes.

"Shut up," John says.

"You just told me I didn't have to shut up," Alex says, a calculated dig that chases away the last of John's embarrassment, endearing as it is, as John focuses on punching his shoulder and looking extraordinarily put out by Alex's existence. Alex laughs, ducking away from John's assault until John's arms loop around his neck again and they're back more or less where they started, with John on his lap, arms around him, affectionate and pleased.

"Hey," John says.

"Hi," Alex says.

"So. Actions louder than words, etc. I can't talk to you like that, not without an enormous amount of alcohol or a few Xanax--" Alex files that away to inspect more closely in the future. "--but I can definitely show my appreciation by going down on you?" 

John raises an eyebrow in question, smirking, and for all that John claims he doesn't have anything to offer with his words, there's something about the casual way he talks about sex that steals the breath from Alex's lungs every time. Half the time he's not even trying to flirt, just asking a question or making a suggestion. _Hey, you should ride me tonight because I really wanna fuck you but I'm too tired to do the work_ or _Have you ever rimmed anyone before, because I was thinking about that in the shower and it's got me pretty amped up._ For all that he can't seem to articulate the intricacies of his feelings, he never even hesitates to be direct, or even blunt, with his desires.

Something about that dichotomy is just...really fucking hot.

Alex swallows, but it's useless--his throat is already dry in anticipation.

"Cool," he manages to say, and John bursts out laughing.

"You can write me a fifty page email about the color of my eyes and the way I make you feel and you can say all these things and your response to 'can I blow you' is 'cool.'"

Alex's face heats up. "Well it is!" he says, and thinks about it for a moment. "On multiple levels, even, because it's cool that you would even ask, you know, like cool that someone like you would even consider making that offer to me, but then it's also cool with me, as in okay with me, if you--mphf."

John presses Alex's shoulder back against the wall at the head of the bed as he kisses him. It takes Alex's brain a moment to get with the program, but once he's there he has no further complaints or interruptions, just the breathless, heady feeling that starts low in his stomach and radiates outward and makes his skin tight and hot, every inch of him drawn to John like he's been magnetized.

"Cool" is maybe an understatement, but Alex, amazingly, lacks the words to accurately capture the enormity of this feeling, the way it morphs and twists and scatters into a million different thoughts and desires. The way John's hair feels in between his fingers, the way John's breath feels against his belly, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, his wet cock. The way it goes from hot and desperate to the muted post-coital peace that's just as warm and strong in a different way.

"I'm gonna write you a lot more letters," Alex says, dazed, when they're curled under the sheets later.

"I mean, you don't need to write me a letter to get me to blow you again," John says, nuzzling Alex's throat. "But I appreciate them all the same."

"We should get dressed and head in," Alex says, but he doesn't move.

"Yep," John says. "We have class soon."

John doesn't move either.

And then their phones ruin that plan by buzzing in unison on the floor.

"Maybe it's Washington cancelling class," John murmurs, and he groans in protest when Alex pulls away so he can lean over the edge of the bed and grab the nearest phone. It's John's, and he very quickly passes it over to John without reading the message lit up on the screen. He's learned his lesson.

"It's Laf," John says. "He's at the lab, von Steuben has a case for us."

"Alright," Alex says with a sigh. "I guess it's time to get back to work.

***

"I see we've made up," is the first thing Laf says when Alex and John get to the lab. It seems to catch Burr's attention--he looks up from his laptop and gives the two of them a considering look.

"Yeah." John leans over to bump his shoulder against Alex's.

"Your first fight," Lafayette says with an exaggerated sniffle. "You're growing up."

"Fuck off," John says. "Alex was an asshole, I'm an idiot, we've moved on."

"Ish," Alex says.

"We've tabled the heart of the issue for the rest of the semester," John amends.

"This would be the overworking issue, I imagine, not the breach of privacy issue," Lafayette says.

"You would be correct," Alex says. 

"Are we going to talk about our case or are we going to talk about our feelings?" John asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I suppose we can discuss the case," Laf says. "I forwarded the information to Herc, but he cannot get out of his other job."

"Monday, Monday," John muses. "What's Herc's Monday job?"

"I don't know what any of his jobs are," Alex admits. "And the ones I do know I don't think I believe."

"Either way," Lafayette continues, "apparently this was something given to von Steuben to use with his freshmen, but upon doing prep work last night, he found it too volatile a situation to bring freshmen into. He doesn't have time to fully investigate, so he's passed it on to us. To our John, in particular, as a birthday present." 

"Well, it's awesome and horrifying then, probably," John says. "Give us the deets."

Lafayette hands them each a bundle of papers and they head over to their workstations to catch up. The site is a half demolished house two towns over. Construction had begun when the disturbance started, and from the reports, von Steuben assumed it was a residual haunting with a rather nasty spirit loop. When he got there to investigate in person, it became clear that the spirit was stronger than that. He hadn't packed a full array of equipment, so he left quickly. He did warn that whatever was there was quite aggressive. Whether it's due to the spirit not understanding that it's dead or something more sinister is yet to be determined.

"Well, this'll either be really exciting or really boring," John says. "I don't know which I'd prefer after how crazy the last day has been."

"We'll meet Herc there after class, then?" Alex says, glancing up at Laf, who nods. "Cool. I'll start a PoA--unless you want to do the honors, seeing how this is your special birthday case?"

John shakes his head. "Von Steuben says he emailed some cellphone footage to our professional account. I'm gonna check that out?"

"Sounds good," Alex says. 

"I will start some chem prep, then," Laf says with a sigh. 

"I'll do the research if you do the chem prep," Alex says. Chem and research are probably the least exciting prep jobs, at least to them. John's obsessed with photography and Laf knows sound back to front and Alex has a massive amount of background knowledge of procedures and a budding interest in environmental conditions, but putting together the correct chemical compounds for the various incantations that may need to be performed is tedious work. Researching the background of the site in question, blindly hoping for some information that might be useful, that the haunting has to do with the location rather than an item brought to the location, is nearly as bad.

"It's a deal," Lafayette says. "John will be spared, as this is his special birthday case."

"Can we stop calling it that?" John asks without looking up from his computer.

"No, because we can tell how much it bothers you," Lafayette says cheerfully.

"I don't know why I fucking like any of you," John mutters, and Alex and Lafayette share a grin over his back.

Alex turns his attention to the Plan of Action, reading and rereading von Steuben's report to find the best angle to approach the haunting. He keeps an eye on the clock--he has class soon--but gets fairly pulled into the work. John taps him on the shoulder to see if he wants to get a coffee before class, but Alex waves him away and accepts a kiss to the cheek and a promise to meet him for lunch. He keeps working up until the last possible moment, then grabs his bag and his tablet and heads out.

When he steps out of the lab to set the alarm, he's surprised to see Burr waiting for him.

"Aaron Burr, sir," Alex says with a wry smile. Burr makes a face at the greeting. "Do you need something?"

"Just to talk for a moment," Burr says. Which is strange, considering he's been in the lab with them all morning, but whatever.

"Sure," Alex says.

"Is everything alright with you and Laurens?"

Alex frowns. What the...? "Uh, yeah? Of course, what are you--"

Right, Laf had brought up their fight as soon as they came in this morning.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine," Alex said. "We had a fight. People fight with their boyfriends sometimes."

"I'm aware," Burr says. "I just wanted to say--well, if you're rethinking some of your decisions so far this semester, if you need some place to stay or to think...."

Alex stops walking and squints at Burr. "You're not hitting on me, right?"

Burr rolls his eyes. "Not everything is about sex. I'm less than interested, Hamilton. I'm trying to offer advice. I'm trying to be a friend."

"You're...okay, whatever," Alex says. Offer advice? Be a friend? Like Burr gives a single shit about him. "I don't know what decisions you think I'm re-thinking, but if this has to do with John--I love John, okay? Like, a lot. And he loves me and we had a dumb fight but we're fine. I'm not going anywhere, I don't need any place to stay--" He spreads his hands and shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what you think is going on--"

"Nothing," Burr says. He sighs. "I'm not--forget I said anything."

"Okay, I'm gonna do that, because I'm still not sure I even know what you were trying to say," Alex says. 

"Don't worry about it," Burr says. "See you around, Hamilton."

"Yeah, okay," Alex says, still confused, and watches Burr turn down the left hallway. 

Abruptly, Alex remembers that he has somewhere to be.

"Shit!" he mutters, and races down the right hallway in hopes of getting to class on time.

***

Herc meets them at the lab with a brown paper bag full of sandwiches and chips, because he's the fucking best.

"Stopped for subs on the way," he says. "Ham: turkey and cheese, mustard, no veggies; Laf: vegetarian: Laurens: turkey, bacon, and cheddar with everything. And, of course, Italian for me."

"Thanks, man," John says.

"I hope your greasy sandwich was nowhere near mine," Laf says, lowering his eyes at Herc.

"Shut up and eat, Frenchie," Herc says. "We've got shit to do."

While the three of them dig into their food, Herc disappears and reappears dragging a hard case on wheels. He hefts it up onto one of the tables and flips the lid open with a level of casual showmanship that Alex both respects and envies. He will never in his life come close to being as effortlessly cool as Herc. The equipment inside the case is all just this side of normal. There are extra wires where there shouldn't be wires, modifications jutting out at strange angles.

"I figure," Herc says, "if we're gonna be on a house in mid-demolition, what better place to test some of this experimental crap I've been putting together?"

"The construction company still might sue if shit goes south," Alex says, but it's an absent concern as he focuses on an Ovilus 5 with an external speaker attached.

"I'll take the risk," Herc says. "You like that? That speaker's top of the line--it'll give a much clearer result than the shitty built in speaker."

"Awesome," Alex says.

"Is that a laser mic?" John asks. "I didn't think those were on the market yet!"

"They're technically not," Herc says. "I know a guy."

Alex scans the rest of the box, his mind already rewriting parts of the PoA.

"Okay, okay," he says. "Give me like...ten minutes to revise the PoA to include this shit. I've got some ideas. Talk amongst yourselves."

Herc mutters something that makes John and Laf both laugh, but Alex is already back at his desk, pulling open the case notes and typing frantically to rearrange his plans. He moves some equipment around and changes the layout of a couple rooms, which means he needs to go back and alter the map. Eventually he feels someone lean against his back, their elbows resting on his shoulders, hands folded on top of his head. He doesn't look up, but he's almost certain it's John.

"It's been twenty minutes," John says, confirming Alex's suspicions. "How you doing?"

"Fine," Alex murmurs. "Just need to shift a few more things."

"Mm," John says, but he doesn't move. "If you're moving the primary infrared over there, you should move the motion gradient platform too."

"Good catch." He makes the correction. "And then the IR Illuminator--"

"Mmhm," John says. "In that corner, so--"

"--it'll reach both the bedrooms. And frees up that space--"

"--for the ion meter. And gets it away--"

"--so it doesn't interfere with--"

"--yeah, and then you can take that battery--"

"--right, right! Because if it's out in the hall--"

"--and put that motion sensor right over--"

"--yeah, god, that's smart, and with the camera--"

"--mm, it's the perfect angle for--"

"--oh, that's brilliant, you're fucking brilliant."

Alex's fingers fly across the keys, making the modifications as the new plan unfurls itself. John is still a warm weight against his back and after only a few more keystrokes, he's confident enough to send the whole thing to the printer. When John stands up and he turns around the retrieve the papers, Herc and Lafayette are staring at the both of them incredulously.

"What?" Alex asks.

Herc rolls his eyes. "Doesn't matter, kid. Give us the plan and let's hit the fucking road."

Alex gives in and lets the matter drop. He passes out the updated plan, does a final equipment check, and soon enough they're packing Herc's van and heading out to their site.

***

Most of their cases--most of the cases they study, even--take place in fairly populated areas. As freelancers, they work mostly with those wealthy enough to buy their time, which means nice apartment buildings and expensive suburban homes. This is the first time they've ever been somewhere that embodies the pop cultural stereotype of a haunting. The house is set back off the road, far enough off the beaten path that they can't see any neighbors. It's old and dilapidated: windows dirty, shutters crooked, shingles missing from patches of the roof. Once upon a time, it was probably white, but even in the low light of the quickly setting sun, it looks more yellow-grey. The back porch and kitchen have already been half demolished and the remains cast strange shadows across the overgrown back lawn.

It looks like the set of a horror movie, a Hollywood horror movie, the kind that perpetuate myths about ghosts that drive Alex up the wall. He wants to scoff and he does, a little, but he also has to hide a shiver. Even without knowing it's haunted by something potentially malevolent, it's really fucking creepy.

The spirit in the house is quiet as they unload Herc's van and start transporting equipment inside. The four of them are less quiet, shouting questions back and forth and passing equipment around. They make their way through the upstairs rooms, careful on the rotting floors, then back down to set up their equipment on the ground floor. 

The sun has almost completely set by the time Alex has secured the last wires. There's already a low level of activity showing on his monitors and he's excited. They've never been on a case where the spirit they were dealing with was this present this quickly.

The others feel it too. John bounces on his toes as he snaps photos and a dangerous grin overtakes Herc's face. Laf hums to himself as he adjusts a few microphones, smiling at the readouts on his equipment as he does so. They do one final check and then gather around the monitors to wait for that spike in activity that will throw them over into active territory. 

And they wait.

And they wait.

Each minute that passes is _killing_ Alex. He needs something to happen, something more than the shallow squiggly lines on the readouts for all their equipment. Between the readings they were already getting while setting up and the report von Steuben gave them, he was _sure_ this was going to be exciting. A level three encounter, maybe--a spirit who can interact with non-mediums on its own. Alex has never dealt with anything above a level two before, and the idea of actually directly communicating with a spirit outside of spirit dice and the Ovilus is exhilarating. 

But they're still waiting.

They take turns doing walkthroughs with various equipment, slowly doing a lap around each room to see if it sparks activity or picks up anything their equipment is missing. They do a lap around the outside of the house to check the same thing. Herc even wanders a few yards into the woods, but there's still nothing but the gentle background hum that showed up the minute they turned on their machines. John is getting twitchy. Lafayette looks like he's going to fall asleep.

It's two hours before Herc makes the call.

"We can't fucking sit here all night," he says. "Either von Steuben misjudged or this thing doesn't want to show itself with us here. We'll leave the shit, come back tomorrow morning to collect the evidence, like usual."

"But this isn't supposed to be like usual," Alex definitely doesn't whine. 

"It's my birthday case!" John definitely isn't whining either.

"Tell that to the fucking spirit," Herc says. 

Alex hates to admit defeat, but Hercules is right. It's stupid to sit out here all night waiting for something to happen. Despite all the eyewitness reports of heavy, dangerous activity from von Steuben, they shouldn't treat this any differently than any other case. Best to go home, get some rest, and review the evidence in the morning. If nothing else, it will help them narrow their scope and plan any necessary exorcism or expulsion.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Alex mutters. John's shoulders slump and he leans against Alex--or, more accurately, they slump simultaneously and lean against each other. 

"Should we put some more monitors in the surrounding woods?" Laf asks.

"Not a bad idea," Alex says. "Just in case it really does extend that far."

"I've got just the thing," Herc says. "Prototype, not even close to being on the market yet--combined environmental, infrared, and EMF, but without motion sensors or sound. Perfect for outside shit where there's gonna be animals and bugs and who the fuck knows what else running through the scene all night."

"Good call," John says. He pushes himself up again. "What do you need us to do?"

"If Laf'll give me a hand setting them up, I'll need one of you to help me calibrate from here."

"We can do that," Alex says.

Herc pushes himself up from the floor and stretches. Alex can hear his joints pop. Lafayette is on his heels, leaning against the wall while he gets to his feet and leaving John and Alex seated on the floor.

"Let's get this over with," Herc says.

He and Lafayette head back out to the van. A few minutes later, he reappears with a USB key for the monitors and a walkie-talkie.

"Walk me through the levels on the first one I set up and we'll be good to go," he says. "Once I get the settings, it'll take us maybe ten minutes to throw up the rest?"

"Sounds good," Alex says.

Calibrating the settings on the outdoor monitors is only tedious because it's hard to explain over the walkie exactly what level each setting should be at. There's some minor trial and error before they figure it all out to a chorus of Herc muttering curses and John tapping the arrows on the laptop keyboard to move each slider one space at a time.

"You should probably tell whoever is making this stuff that they need to make the markings on the physical monitor match up with the markings in the software," Alex says once they've figured out the last of them.

"I'll fucking go home and do it myself tomorrow night," Herc says. "What a fucking pain in the ass. Anyway. We'll get the rest of these up and check all the mobile readouts in the van and then head home?" 

"Sounds good," Alex says. "We'll be here."

He puts the walkie down and leans against the wall with a theatrical sigh. John leans next to him, arms crossed and a tiny, cute sympathetic smile lingering on his lips.

"I really wanted it to be something," Alex admits.

"There's a chance it still will be," John says. "Who knows what'll show up tonight? Maybe it knows it's my birthday tomorrow and wants to save the really crazy shit until then."

"I'll be pissed if von Steuben ends up getting you a better present than I did," Alex says. "I mean, I know the jokes about von Steuben seducing you aren't funny anymore--"

"--were _never_ funny--"

"--but if this is a level three? Shit. That's a hell of a present. I've never seen a level three before."

"Me either," John admits. "I was so pumped. Guess I'll just have to put it on hold until tomorrow."

"Man, you're not even gonna get to sleep in on your birthday if we have to be over here at the crack of dawn," Alex says.

"Well, I--" John starts to say, but his phone buzzes, interrupting them. He pulls it out of his pocket and glances at it. His expression immediately twists into something wary and confused.

"I...have to take this," he says. "If only out of morbid curiosity." Alex raises his eyebrows, so John turns the screen around. _Dad_ , it says, over a photo of a severe-looking older guy with salt and pepper hair.

"Shit," Alex murmurs, and John hits _accept_ and puts the phone up to his ear.

"Are Martha and Mellie and Henry okay?" John asks immediately. 

Alex strains to hear the response, but he can't make out any distinct words, just the general buzz of someone with a deep voice answering John's question. 

The worry fades from John's face, replaced by wariness. "Okay, uh, thanks, I guess?" Some more distant mumbling. "No, surprisingly, everything is fine. I can, as it happens, take care of myself and it turns out I'm even pretty good at it." 

Okay, that's sort of a lie--John's a walking zombie and he needs to get more sleep and let Alex like, buy him a real meal once a week, but lies are acceptable when talking to your dirtbag parents. 

"Yeah, yeah. I have a boyfriend. You'd hate him." Alex doesn't doubt it. "No, he's a poor orphan Latino parapsychologist with a temper and a mouth. I'm pretty sure you'd murder each other if you were left in the same room together for more than a minute." He looks at Alex as his father responds and then says, "No, I didn't purposely choose him because I knew you'd hate him, but it's a nice bonus." 

The more John's father talks, the less expression on John's face. Within a few minutes, John's face is a smooth, expressionless mask. "He does."

Alex might actually die of curiosity. 

"And how's everyone back home?" John's eyebrows knit together in anger. This is easier for Alex to interpret, to deal with. "Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that," he nearly spits. "Well, this has been fun, sorry this isn't going to be a phone call where I come crawling back to you. We should do this again at Christmas. Enjoy the rest of your day."

He hangs up while his father is still talking and stares down at the phone for a moment. Alex inches closer, into John's personal space. He doesn't want to hover or elbow in where he's not wanted, especially after their whole privacy fiasco last night, but he is...concerned. 

And yes, still curious.

"My dad continues to be a fucking prick, if you were wondering," John says. He's smiling wryly when he finally looks up at Alex. "Just calling because he's going out of town tomorrow and wanted to check in for my birthday."

"That's...not nice," Alex says with more conviction than he feels.

"Well, where the definition of 'check in' is more like 'see if I'm ready to beg for forgiveness and then gloat if that's the case.' He wouldn't even tell me how my siblings were doing--he said to check Facebook if I was suddenly so interested in their health. Fuck him." 

"Sorry, man," Alex says. He places a tentative hand on John's arm, and when John leans into the touch, he moves to tuck his arm around John's waist. "He's an asshole."

"Yeah." John sighs, a long, tired exhale, and sags against Alex's side. 

"Fuck him, like you said," Alex says. "We'll finish this thing up tonight, then tomorrow we'll figure out what we need to do to get rid of it and we'll go over to the Washingtons' place and let Mrs. W dote on you. And that night we can go out with the guys and you'll flirt your way into free drinks all night and be hungover as shit on Wednesday, then Friday night we'll have the party--you don't need him. You have us. You have me."

"Yeah," John says. He sighs again. "Yeah, you're right." He turns and lets his forehead thunk against Alex's temple. "I don't know why I fucking let him rile me up like this. I should know better."

"Yeah, but that's hardly your worst fault," Alex says. He feels John smile.

"You're such a shit," John says.

"Well, like you said, I've got a temper and a mouth."

"You've got a mouth, alright."

Alex turns his head just enough to pull John into a kiss. This close, in the quiet of the house as they wait for their friends to return, it feels intimate immediately, from the very first brush of lips. John exhales against Alex's mouth and leans into the kiss, letting Alex turn him slightly and pressing one of his hands to the small of Alex's back. John's heart is already racing, Alex can feel it, and Alex needs to focus on his goal so he doesn't end up shoving John back against the wall and going down on him, which seems like a pretty great idea at present.

"What did he ask you?" Alex murmurs, kissing John's throat, right under his jaw.

"What?" John says. He's distracted and dazed, breathing hard already. Sometimes it feels like John is continuously poised to come alive the moment Alex shows him the barest physical affection, like he's just waiting for Alex's mouth to be on his own every moment of every day. Alex likes that. Alex likes that probably more than he should.

"Your dad," Alex says. He scrapes his teeth along the ridge of bone right under John's ear and hears John's breathing sputter. "What did he ask you about me? Right after you said we'd kill each other if we met."

"Jesus, Alex, can we talk about this later?" John asks. He presses closer to Alex, but Alex isn't having it--he'll be useless until he knows.

"Joooohn," Alex sing-songs. 

John swears quietly under his breath and looks up at Alex with dark, hungry eyes. "We have like, ten minutes until Lafayette and Herc get back. I thought you'd want to spend that time groping."

"I would. But first, I want to know what your dad said about me." He dips his head and kisses John's neck, letting his damp breath warm John's skin and working on leaving a mark just below the collar of his shirt. When John breathes out again, he shakes against Alex.

"Fuck," John whispers, and Alex nips his throat.

"Tell me," he says.

"God, I hate you," John says, his voice breathy and higher than usual. 

"I don't think you really do," Alex murmurs, and nips John again. John makes a soft, surprised noise and pulls Alex closer. "Come on."

"He asked me--he asked if you treated me right and if you loved me," John finally says, panting. "I told him you do."

That wasn't what Alex was expecting. He pauses for a moment, and John's other hand comes up and tangles in Alex's hair.

"Alexander," John says, "you'd better fucking finish what you start. It's my birthday."

"It's your birthday tomorrow," Alex corrects, but he kisses John's mouth again, a little more sweetly, even as John pushes him back towards the wall, his nails scratching at Alex's scalp. He's pressed right up against Alex, warm and firm and the desire to get his hands on John's skin hasn't lessened, but his heart feels too big for his chest, too, the way it always does when Alex is overwhelmed with affection, when he has to _say_ something, _tell_ someone, tell _John_ , because John is the only person who makes him feel this way.

"I do, I try, I will," he babbles when John pulls away to move his mouth down to Alex's throat. "To treat you well, I mean, to--to be good for you. To-- _fuck_!"

John has managed to slip his fingers under Alex's t-shirt and hoodie and is tracing his hipbones with his thumbnails. They definitely shouldn't be doing this, they absolutely shouldn't be doing this, they absolutely shouldn't fuck on the floor of a half-demolished house supposedly housing a malevolent spirit, and yet--

John freezes in his arms, his grip on Alex's hips going from teasing to rigid.

"What was that?" he asks, his voice low.

Alex strains to listen. All he can hear is distant hum of the van's engine.

"I don't hear anything," he finally whispers.

"I swear I--" John freezes again. "There it--there's something--"

John starts looking around the room, still gripping Alex's hips as he scans every crevice and corner.

"I don't--" Alex starts to say, but then there's an undeniable creaking from the dining room.

Maybe they're going to see some action tonight after all.

He tries to remain calm as he and John disengage and slowly walk across the foyer towards the dining room. It's possible a breeze moved a cabinet door or the wind whistled through a particular configuration of debris. They should really go get the other guys before investigating, but John is taking cautious steps towards the noise and a burst of adrenaline is encouraging Alex to do the same.

They both jump and shout when the front door swings open.

" _Fuck_!" John hisses once he sees Laf and Herc on the other side, eyes wide. Alex grunts wordlessly, but he doesn't even have time to chastise them--even from where he's standing, he can see the EMF meter Herc is holding is going wild.

"Just as we were finishing up with the load in, all of the mobile monitors sprung to life," Lafayette says quietly. 

"We heard it, too," John says. He rolls his shoulders. "And there's definitely something--" He trails off, still staring at the dining room. "The air is different," he says nonsensically.

And before Alex can ask him to elaborate, a chair comes sliding out of the dining room and stops right in front of John.

"Oh my god," John says quietly.

And then the chair shoots five feet up in the air and slams back down on the ground, shattering into dozens of pieces, the sound echoing through the foyer.

"Holy _shit!_ "

Alex isn't even sure who shouted it--maybe they all did. He goes stumbling for his Ovilus, banging into John as he reaches for his camera, nearly tripping over Laf and Herc as they try to get out of the way. He should be embarrassed by how unprofessional they're all acting right now, but he's too keyed up to think about anything but documenting the spirit to determine the best course of action.

Looks like it's not gonna be such a quiet night after all.

Once they've grabbed their equipment--Alex with a Mel meter and a Ovilus in either hand, John clutching a video camera, Herc still wielding the EMF meter, Lafayette recording the audio--they pace silently towards the dining room. John is in the lead with the camera, which makes sense, even though Alex would kill to be the first one into the room. 

"You've got the Ovilus," Herc murmurs. "Say something, Ham."

His insides squirm with excitement, his stomach twisting in knots as he says, "Is there something here with us?"

Silence, save for the buzzing of the Ovilus and then--

" _Yes_."

It's clear as day, much clearer than the usual buzzy results from the Ovilus. It's a voice, distinct and sharp and Alex swallows a giddy laugh.

"Why are you interfering with construction here?" Alex asks. 

Another beat.

" _Fun._ "

And maybe Alex is imagining the cold tone to those words, maybe it's just a side-effect of the radio waves the device feeds off of, but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up.

"Are you aware that it's dangerous?" Alex asks. His voice wavers a little and John takes a step back so they're shoulder to shoulder. With John's arm pressed against him, he can tell John is shaking a little.

The silence stretches out.

" _Yes_."

Except the voice doesn't come from the Ovilus' speaker. It's in the room, somewhere off in front of them.

They're all quiet for a moment--it feels like they stop breathing all together, the room is that silent. The sound of that voice is ringing in Alex's head, the sharp, smooth, cool tone. He can feel the malice, though maybe that's just the sudden drop in temperature. Their monitors must be going crazy, if the reading on his Mel meter is anything to go by.

He tries to shake off the cold. They have a job to do. They have a plan to follow, a plan that he meticulously wrote out. According to the document on their clipboards and tablets, in the event that they're able to communicate with the spirit directly, they need to ask it if it's aware of the damage it's doing, why it's doing the damage, if the danger is intentional, and why it hasn't moved on. From there, they're supposed to ask it politely to leave. If it won't, that's where the expulsion comes in. If it starts to get violent--well, they've brought more than one exorcism kit.

"Why are you still here?" Alex asks. His skin has broken out into goosebumps and he fights back a shiver.

" _I told you_ ," the voice says. Again, it doesn't come from the Ovilus, but from the room. Each word seems to be whispered from a different direction, as if instead of a single spirit, there are dozens in every corner of the room. " _Fun_."

Alex isn't projecting, he knows he's not projecting--there's something malicious and cruel in its tone, something foreboding. He never bought into the idea that people can feel the ill intentions, the evil and cruelty of malevolent spirits, but he's rapidly changing his stance. The room is like ice, but his blood has turned to ice as well--panic and fear are overtaking him. He _knows_ this thing is out to hurt them. He just _knows_ , deep in his bones, ringing through his whole body.

But parapsychologists don't get far if they scare easily. They have a job to do. They're trained for this.

"You need to leave," Alex says, proud of how commanding his voice is. His legs are shaking. 

" _No_ ," the voice says.

Behind them, the front door slams so hard the entire house seems to shake. No, more than shaking--it's as if everything, including the house, including Alex's body, is vibrating. It lasts for a full ten seconds and then--stops.

It's not just the vibrating--the feeling of terror is gone, the cold is gone. He knows that whatever was in the room with them is gone now. Herc looks around the room and then turns on his heel and runs back out to the foyer where their monitors are set up.

"Upstairs," he shouts to them. Alex, John, and Lafayette follow him into the foyer, Lafayette stopping only long enough to grab the duffel bag full of exorcism kits and chem kits as they race up the stairs. 

The Mel meter in Alex's hand is back to the low level background activity of before. He waves it slowly in the hall between the two bedrooms, but there's no noticeable difference in the readings.

"The one on the right," Herc says. "It was lit up like a Christmas tree before they all dove back down into that background buzz. That's where we start."

The room is just as they left it, mostly empty save for some half-rotted furniture and strung up with wires from their equipment and the work lights left hanging on hooks by the construction crew. Lafayette heaves the duffel bag onto the bed frame--broken wooden headboard, rusted metal frame, half collapsed box spring--and unzips it. He pulls out a plastic salt dispenser and tosses it to Alex.

"Salt circle," he says shortly, but Alex has already gotten to work, pouring the salt out into a circle large enough to fit all four of them with enough space for a power circle. It nearly encompasses the whole room, but Alex figures bigger is better in this case. As much as he'd like to get closer to the spirit to study it, even he can tell that tonight is not the night--whatever is in here is too powerful. 

That's an observation that he has to reiterate to John, who's standing far too close to the edge of the circle for Alex's comfort.

"It's not gonna be any help if you don't stand inside of it, dumbass," he says, elbowing John until he's further back into the circle. John glances up from his camera to glare at Alex, but he doesn't protest. 

Alex finishes the salt circle and Herc and Laf hop inside of it. Laf places the candles in position as Herc draws the outline of the power circle on the ground in chalk. Alex lights the first censer of incense, and before he can grab the second, the door to the room slams shut with the same strength and volume the front door had slammed shut in the foyer. 

Alex's bones are vibrating again, his blood cold as the warmth is leeched out of the room. And it's not just the warmth--the room is getting darker and darker. The lights mounted on their equipment are still working--he can see the outline of the beams--but it's as if a dark fog is filling the room, making it impossible to see despite the light.

They need to keep working. The spirit can't get them as long as they're inside the salt circle.

Of course, that only stops the spirit itself, a fact that the entity seems to be aware of. Only a moment after Alex has that thought, a board comes flying through the air at him and he has to duck. He hears it shatter on the far wall and forces himself to focus on the incense. His hands shake and falter for just a moment as another piece of something comes flying at him, but he lights the second censer and stands up, only to immediately crouch down again as more and more pieces of wood and metal fly through the air like darts. He can make out Lafayette tearing through the chem kit to find the compounds he needs for an entity this powerful.

"John, Herc!" he shouts.

"I'm fine!" John says. Alex can just about make him out at the other end of the circle.

"Let's fucking fry this thing!" Herc shouts back.

The dark fog from before disappears all at once, and Alex has to blink against the sudden light. It's not just the light of the room, though--the construction lights have flared to life too, and they're getting steadily brighter. They're blindingly bright, so bright that they have to be otherworldly. Laf curses behind him, frantic French babbling so fast even Alex can barely pick out the words.

"I think it's right," Lafayette shouts in English. "I think--I think it's the sulfur first."

Alex suddenly wishes Burr was with them. Burr would know for certain.

"Just go with it!" John says. "I think you're right!"

Alex looks up and there's a dark outline, blacked out by the light shining from behind it. It's shorter than Alex, which is so strange to think, so at odds with the violence in the room. Alex isn't exactly statuesque. To think that something smaller than him can do this--

He's pulled out of his reverie by another flying piece of wood--it's part of the windowsill, he thinks--and Lafayette shouting his name sharply.

"The incantation, Alexander!" he says.

"Right, right!" 

Laf lights the chemical compounds and Alex jumps over to join him inside the power circle. He starts reciting the incantation from memory, a classic Paine prayer in Latin. The room gets impossibly brighter as he speaks, but he doesn't falter. He doesn't falter even when the entity steps forward to the edge of the salt circle, fully visible, its face a mask of unholy anger. Its rage so sharp that Alex can feel it digging into his chest, even as the Latin words tumble out of his mouth. It seems to be staring right at him as he speaks, but it abruptly whirls its gaze to John, who's still dutifully filming the whole scene. It catches him by surprise and he stumbles back, but Herc catches him before he can fall.

The entity hovers six inches off the ground, then a foot, then two feet. There's a shrieking noise that Alex _feels_ even more than he hears. The lights around them burst spectacularly in a wave of sparks just as Alex gets out the last of the incantation and Laf lights the second pouch of compounds on fire. The screech gets louder and higher and then just. Stops.

The silence is so sudden that Alex's ears ring in the absence of noise. He blinks to focus his eyes in the dark, shining his flashlight to each of his friends in turn. The room is trashed and the lights the construction company left behind have been shattered, but the cold and the feeling of terror are gone. He watches as Herc grabs the Mel meter from the floor and checks the readings.

"It's gone," he says.

"Holy _shit_ ," John says. The words are a hoarse whisper. 

"That was...." Lafayette trails off, shaking his head. "I have never seen anything like that before."

"Me either," Alex agrees. "That was...." But he doesn't have any words either.

"Fuckin' A!" Herc recovers first, his face breaking into a broad grin. He slaps John on the back, but John is still frozen in shock and all it does is send him stumbling forward. Herc ignores him and holds out his hand to Lafayette for a high-five. Laf, in a daze, manages to complete the action. A smile slowly spreads across his own face, but Alex only sees it for a moment before Herc grabs him in a bear hug, lifting him off of the ground.

"Herc!" Alex shouts, but it slides into a laugh as the reality of their job hits him. "Shit! We did it!"

"That was insane!" John says. "That was--holy _shit!_ "

Herc drops Alex back to the ground. John and Laf bump fists and then John is on top of Alex, throwing his arms around his neck. Alex hugs him automatically and they cling to each other, laughing, suspended in this surreal moment.

Eventually, all four of them come down from the boost of a successful job. Alex feels the adrenaline leaving his system, his muscles wrung out, loose, and heavy. They still need to take down their equipment, pack it back up, inventory everything, and return it to the lab. As exhausted as Alex is, their night isn't over yet.

He and Herc must be on the same page, because with one last slap to Laf's back, Herc sighs and surveys the room.

"Work's not done," he says. "Come on, you shitheads, let's get this crap packed up. There's a bottle of scotch in my shop with our names on it."

***

In the end, they beg off a celebratory drink with Herc and promise to toast to a job well done tomorrow night, when they go out for drinks for John's birthday. It's late already and Laf can barely keep his eyes open. John is hardly better, and even Alex is feeling the tug of sleep as they pile into their cars. The streets are mostly deserted and the parking lot is quiet once they arrive back at their apartment building.

"At least we can sleep in tomorrow morning," Lafayette says as they wait for the elevator. "Then perhaps go to the diner for birthday pancakes, hm?"

Birthday. Shit. Right.

"What time is it?" Alex asks, patting his pockets to figure out what he did with his phone. The elevator dings and they file into it. Laf digs his phone out of his pocket.

"It is 12:07."

"After midnight," John says. He doesn't sound excited, necessarily, but he doesn't sound disappointed either.

"Happy birthday," Alex says. He drifts close enough to knock their shoulders together.

"Thanks."

The elevator pulls to a stop at the third floor and Lafayette hits the button for 11 before the door can open.

"Go up to the roof," he tells them, blocking their exit from the elevator. "I'll join you in a moment."

Alex glances at John, who's already glancing at him, and they shrug almost in unison.

"Okay," John says. Lafayette winks at them just as the doors close again. Alex has no idea how to interpret that. "This is going to be either touching or horrifying."

"You're not wrong," Alex says. He shifts closer to John again, pressing his nose against John's temple. "Another rotation around the sun, huh?"

"More or less," John says. "I was born around seven am."

"Close enough," Alex says. "Don't we like, gain a certain amount of seconds every year? I swear I read somewhere that we'll eventually need an extra Leap Day or something. I can't remember where, but I'm sure it was a thing."

"That's what happens when you read literally anything with words printed on it that stays still long enough," John says, but his voice is warm with fondness.

The elevator slows to a stop again at the eleventh floor and they step out. The eleventh floor isn't much of a floor at all--there are some maintenance closets and storage spaces and then a door to the rooftop lounge area. Technically, no one is supposed to be up here after midnight, but as long as they're quiet, he doesn't think anyone will notice.

It really is a nice view. Even in the dark, the distant glow of Morristown center is visible to the east and the trees and scattered suburban neighborhoods off to the west make a nice contrast. Alex drops down onto one of the benches and stares off into the darkness. There are more stars out here than there were in New York, but not nearly as many as he could see from some spots back in the Caribbean. 

Still, it's not...unromantic. 

John sits next to him, close, and Alex doesn't hesitate to take his hand and squeeze it. In the quiet dark of the early hours of John's birthday, staring up at the stars, he feels like they should be having a revelatory conversation. This is the sort of place you declare your love for someone, where you explore the truth and depth of your feelings. Still, he doesn't regret declaring his love half-undressed and blindsided by the realization, nor does he regret digging into the foundation of their relationship on a late Sunday night, sitting on either end of a sofa after shouting themselves hoarse.

Some things are beautiful for the sake of it, and for maybe the first time in his life, Alex understands the desire to sit quietly and take them in, appreciate them, rather than trying to turn them into something they're not. John is warm against his side, the stars and a sliver of moon are hanging in the sky, and Alex can think of nothing in particular he can say to make this moment any better than it already is.

Lafayette joins them soon after. With a flourish, he pulls out bottles of beer from the reusable shopping bag slung over one arm. He hands a beer to each of them before he sits on John's other side. He pops the top off with the bottle opener on his keys, then passes the key ring to John and Alex so they can do the same.

"Not a bad way to start a new year," he says, and John hums in agreement.

"How's twenty-three feeling so far?" Alex asks.

"Not much different than twenty-two," John says, then stops and reconsiders. "No--I want it to be different. Twenty-three is going to be my first year on my own. It's going to be the first year where I'm just me. I'm gonna make it great."

"We will do our best to help," Lafayette says.

"You're doing a pretty good job already," John says. 

Lafayette grins and throws his arm over John's shoulders, then holds his bottle out in toast. "To our John and the first of many years of freedom."

Alex and John meet his bottle with their own.

* * *

Whatever woke Alex up is already fading by the time he's struggling to sit up in bed, eyes wide. It left nothing but adrenaline in its wake, a bitter taste in the back of his throat as his heart tries to beat out of his chest. He wheezes and gasps to fill his lungs with air, kicking to untangle himself from the blankets. He doesn't remember that he's sharing a bed with someone who desperately needs sleep until it's too late.

"Alex?" John mumbles, rolling over and blinking up at him. 

"Go back to sleep," Alex insists, but his voice sounds high even to his own ears and he's disappointed, but not surprised, when John pushes himself up instead of rolling back over.

"Alex, are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Alex says.

"You're shaking, idiot," John says. He rubs his eyes and slides closer, laying a hand between Alex's shoulder blades. His hands are cool, which is good because Alex feels like he's burning up. "Did you...did you have a bad dream?"

"Maybe?" Alex says. "I don't know. I don't remember. I just woke up and...." He shivers. John shakes his head and embraces Alex fiercely. Alex wants to protest, but having something to hold onto feels amazing. Having it be John feels...safe.

"It's okay." John drags his fingers through Alex's hair. "Hey, it's okay. You're awake. You're here in bed in Morristown with me. Lafayette is in the other room. It's--well, the first week of November 2014, I can't remember what day. Nothing bad is happening. Or going to happen. You're awake, you're here, you're safe."

"Yeah," Alex says, and tries to force his body to believe it. "Yeah, okay. I'm fine. I'm just--I'm fine."

John believes him enough to release Alex, but not enough to lie back down. He leans back against the wall, wiggling against the blankets and pillows, then takes Alex's hand instead.

"Wanna talk about it?" John asks, and Alex must look pretty fucking bad if John is willing to talk.

"I don't know," Alex says. It's the truth. "I honestly don't know what it was. It fucked me up, but I don't remember it." He shivers again, and gives into the urge to curl up against John. The steady beat of his heart is comforting, and though his hands were cool where they pressed against Alex's flushed skin, his bare chest is warm now that Alex has progressed to shivering in the after effects of his adrenaline spike. He leans against John's side, resting his head on John's shoulder and curling an arm around his waist. 

John kisses the top of his head. "You're okay," he says again. John is probably fucking exhausted and Alex should push him away and tell him to go to sleep and go pace this off like he has for the past decade, before he had someone to hold him and tell him it would be alright. He doesn't, though--he's selfish, maybe, or maybe just too tired to pull himself away.

"I was twelve when my mother died," Alex says, apropos of nothing. He exhales against John's shoulder. "And this started happening not long after, so I imagine--I mean, it makes sense that--that's probably what it's all about, you know?"

"I do," John says carefully. He squeezes Alex. "I know exactly what--yeah."

"I didn't even, like--fuck, I can't think of a way to say it without sounding like an asshole. I wasn't really that close to her before she died, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I wasn't--like, James, James was a mama's boy, he'd follow her around when we were little, you know? I was always more independent. But we got sick around the same time and she was still my mom and it was...really hard to come out of it and have the doctors tell me that I would be okay, but that she was dead."

John goes still beneath Alex for a moment, his heart rate increasing. He breathes out all at once and then kisses the crown of Alex's head again.

"I know what that feels like," John says softly. "And I hate that you know it too."

They're quiet for a moment. Alex almost wants to ask John to elaborate--it would be a good distraction, wrapping himself up in a nugget of John's past, as painful as it clearly is. It's a part of John, something that Alex can have for himself, locked selfishly deep in his heart. John would tell him, too--with Alex shaking and vulnerable, he thinks John would do nearly anything he asks. He doesn't want to betray that trust, though. Just because he knows he can manipulate John into doing something doesn't mean he should. He needs John's calm more than he needs that particular distraction.

"It's just weird to think that she never knew me as a person. She'll never _know_ me as a person," Alex finally says. "I was just a dumb kid back then. I was good at school, but that was it, really. I didn't have a lot of hobbies or friends or anything. I mostly read. Parapsych, all of that--it came after. I'm like a totally different person now. She wouldn't even recognize me."

"I didn't know her, but I bet she'd be proud," John says. "Fuck, I'm proud of you all the time and I've only known you since August. It's so hard not to brag to everyone constantly, which is corny as fuck, I know, but you're so smart and talented and driven and just, like--you're gonna change the world. And hopefully I'll be standing next to you when you do it."

Alex closes his eyes. "I love you," he says, because he can't think of any better response. "You'll be there. I can't do it alone."

"You can," John says. "But I'll be there all the same for as long as you'll let me."

"Do you think about it at all?" Alex asks. He opens his eyes again and twists his neck so he can look up at John without moving his head. "I know you were little when your mom died, littler than I was."

"Do I wonder what she'd think of me?" John asks.

"Yeah."

John goes quiet and resumes running his fingers through Alex's hair.

After long, silent minutes, John says, "So, after my mom died, my dad didn't really talk about her that much anymore. And we didn't either--Martha and I would talk to each other about her a little, but it made us sad, and the other kids were too young. It was hard for him, I guess. No--I know it was. But, uh, he never really mentioned her."

Alex knows better than to interrupt. John never brings up his father casually.

"I went to boarding school when I was thirteen for--well, there were a lot of complicated reasons that I'm too fucking tired to get into. But I had just sort of worked out my gayness and I was alone in a new country with it, and it was just one of a dozen new things I was trying to adjust to. I was afraid to tell my dad because...he's kind of an asshole, obviously, and I knew he had capital-P Plans for me and I imagined me being gay didn't fit into them. He wasn't like, outwardly homophobic, but even before I understood what 'conservative Republican' meant, I knew we didn't see things the same way. And for...reasons...I was basically on my own for years. I didn't come home for breaks. My family didn't come to visit. And as time went on, I became pretty resentful of that."

Alex thinks about the casual way John said "I have a boyfriend now" to his father. If John was rubbing his gayness in his father's face, Alex imagines the words would have been crueler, more spiteful.

"Is this a coming out story?" he asks.

"Sort of," John says. "It's also the answer to your question. So, when I was fifteen, filled with the usual teenage shit as well as all of this anger and disappointment that my father hadn't fucking lifted a finger to come see me in almost three years, and also armed with the knowledge that my father's political party lines included some virulent hatred of The Gays, I decided the best thing to do would be to come out to him over the phone. Because I was a little shit. Still am, really."

"But you're my little shit," Alex reminds him. "Ugh, that sounds a lot worse than that line usually sounds."

"I kind of love you for saying it, though." John's lips curl into a smile against Alex's temple. "Anyway. I psyched myself out and called him up, but then halfway through the call I started to get scared. Because I wanted a reaction and I thought I wanted anything, but the idea of being a disappointment to him--a further disappointment, I mean. I don't know. I still wanted so badly for him to love me. So I started to freak out and he was getting impatient and finally he said, 'John, spit it out. What's wrong?' And I just told him, 'Dad, I'm gay.'"

John normally hates talking about himself, so Alex is surprised at how easily this story comes to him. He's not shaking or fidgeting or coming up with excuses to stop halfway through. He's not looking at Alex because of their relative positions in the bed, but Alex has a feeling that even if they were sitting across from each other, John wouldn't hesitate to meet his eyes. He wants to analyze this, compare it to other moments when he's had to all but crack John's chest open to get a confession, but for the moment, he's too rapt to do anything but listen.

"I started to cry because for what felt like hours he was just...quiet. And finally he asked me when I figured it out and I told him, you know, that I put the word to it when I was thirteen, before I even left South Carolina, but I had always sort of known. And then--it was so weird, of everything I expected him to say, I definitely didn't expect him to thank me, but he did. He said he was glad I told him and asked if the other kids--my siblings, I mean--knew. I think Martha might have suspected, but I hadn't told them, so I said no and he asked if I wanted him to tell them...it was so measured and calm and my head was spinning because I wasn't prepared for that reaction at all. He asked if I had a boyfriend and I sort of did but I was too exhausted to want to start _that_ conversation, so I lied and told him I didn't. And we talked for a little about school after that, just casual as anything. I think I was in shock. And then right as the call was winding down he said...he said, 'I'm really glad you told me this, son. Your mother would be so proud of you.'"

John exhales, his breath ruffling Alex's hair. Alex thinks he's as surprised as teenage John must have been. From everything he knows about Henry Laurens, he would have assumed the reaction to his son coming out would be more along the lines of bible-thumping and swearing. He kind of hates that knowing otherwise makes him respect John's dad just a little bit more.

"It was so surreal. I started to cry again. I was just so relieved, you know? I was so positive it was going to end with an angry speech and a 'No son of mine' and pray away the gay camp or something, even if Dad wasn't particularly religious. I told him I missed Mom and he told me that he missed her too and he wished she could see us growing up. And...there's so much fucking baggage that I won't get into, but hearing him say that--fuck, I don't know. It helped settle all these parts of me that were tense, things I hadn't even known were bothering me. And...it's a weirdly good memory. I don't have too many good memories with my dad and I never would have expected my coming out to be one, but it is. I hadn't felt that close to him in years and I haven't felt that close to him since. And he's a shithead and I'm glad I got away from him, but...."

He shrugs, Alex's head and chest lifting and dropping back down with the movement.

"He's classist and condescending and, despite having a Puerto Rican wife and kids, racist in that sort of 'all lives matter,' 'I have black friends,' 'maybe if they just worked harder' way, but he was never homophobic to me and never homophobic towards other people where I could hear it. I don't know why the cards fell that way. I'll probably never know."

"I'm glad they did," Alex says. "You don't deserve to feel like you're not perfect." 

"Alex," John says quietly. Alex recognizes the tone without looking up, the embarrassed lilt to his voice that always shows itself when Alex praises him. "I'm an asshole."

"Yeah, but you're my asshole," Alex says. "Besides, that's what makes you perfect. You'd be boring if you were nice." That makes John laugh, at least.

"Anyway, that's the answer to your question, I guess. I'd like to think my mom would be proud of me. The fact that my dad thinks she would be makes me more confident than I am about a lot of other things in my life. Sorry for the long-winded story."

"Don't be." Alex shifts so that his palm rests over John's heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath his fingers. "It was a good story." And it was probably good that it was long--the need to run a mile has finally leaked out of Alex's system, leaving him boneless and as calm as he ever is. "It's nice to be comforted. It's--I don't know, I'm sure my parents must have done this at some point when I was a kid, but I don't remember it. And it's nice. It's nice being able to rely on someone to comfort me if I need it."

"The way you talk sometimes...." John sighs and Alex glances up at him as best he can. "You're really...open. And direct. And it's so strange to me, it's so backwards from the way I was raised. I love that you're not afraid to say shit like that even if it's not, you know, macho or whatever to admit that sometimes you need someone to hold you. I love that you don't pussyfoot around with metaphors and euphemisms and stuff. But, Jesus, it's hard to adjust. When I...struggle with this shit, that's all it is. It's like...deprogramming myself. But knowing you're so open and honest...I want to be able to give you that, too. I want you to be able to feel the way I feel when you tell me these things."

"Everything you can give me is a gift. Is that cheesy?"

John laughs. "Mm. A little."

"I mean it." Alex pushes himself up so he and John are sitting side by side, pressed together. He takes one of John's hands in his own and holds it open, tracing his palm absently with one finger. "I want to know everything about you. I want to be honest with you and I want you to be honest with me and I just...I know it's not easy for you. So I'm trying to be patient. Every little bit is worth it. And I'm sorry your fucking backwards family made you think sharing yourself was wrong."

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about them anymore." John laughs again. Alex didn't realize it was possible for a laugh to sound that mournful. "No more family for me. Not really."

"You're in good company, because I haven't really had a family in like, a decade. But now I have you. And, I mean, sort of the rest of them too, Lafayette and Herc and all that, but it's different. It's not...." Alex trails off, for once unable to put what he's feeling into words.

"No," John says softly, "I get it. It is different. They're great, and I'm happy to have them, but you're...." He trails off, too, and closes his hand, grasping one of Alex's as he does so.

"Family," Alex says. "You're my family now."

"Yeah," John whispers, like he's afraid the moment will shatter if he raises his voice. 

Alex squeezes his hand. "I'll be better than the shitty one you had before," he promises. 

"You already are," John says. "I feel like--I don't know, like I've been trying on new families for years. My best friends at boarding school, Mattie and Francis, and then this succession of superficial frat brothers and shitty college boyfriends. Most of them fell apart--Mattie came closest, I still fucking love her like a sister--but...nothing was anything like this. This is--this is what a family is supposed to feel like. I know it. It's like I was just biding my time, waiting for it. Waiting for you."

It's too fucking late or too fucking early--Alex's throat is blocked with emotion. He's dizzy with it. He wants to tell John he feels the same, but he has to struggle to swallow past the lump first, and in that time, John laughs again, high and nervous.

"Oh my god, that's--I can't believe I said all that, that's so--"

"No, no." Alex clears his throat. "Jesus, no, you don't get to take that back. Shit, if waking you up in the middle of the night makes you talk like that--"

"Yes," John agrees fervently. "Let's chalk it up to four am delirium."

"Who's being cheesy now, asshole?"

John shoves him away and rolls his eyes, but he's too tired to mask the soft, open look in his eyes. Alex relents and hugs him again, wrapping his arms around John's chest and squeezing tightly until some of the overwhelming achiness in his heart dissipates.

"Okay, okay," he says against John's cheek. "We'll pretend you never revealed your true feelings and go back to sleep, okay?"

"You're such a shithead."

"But I'm your shithead," Alex reminds him with the most charming grin he can muster at this hour.

"Literally the only reason I haven't murdered you for waking me up this early," John says. They settle back down into bed, tangled together somewhere halfway between sprawling and spooning. Alex doesn't know if he'll be able to sleep again, but he's too tired to do much more than spend the rest of the night like this, holding John and thinking about the future as he waits for the sun to come up.

"I've been waiting for you too, I think," he says softly, once he's pretty sure John is nearly asleep. 

John hums and holds him closer. To Alex's great surprise, once he rests his head on John's shoulder, he closes his eyes and drifts easily back into sleep.

* * *

"Eighteen boxes of books and two cabinets of old records," Washington says. He's standing next to the department van addressing John and Alex and Burr. It's a little weird to see him in this context--dressed down for the weekend in jeans and a thick sweater, but standing on campus where usually he wears slacks and a collared shirt. This is the Washington Alex is used to seeing off the clock, when they're having dinner at his house or borrowing things from his extensive personal library.

Mostly it's too early for his brain to process more than the most rudimentary information. Six am on a Saturday is early even for Alex--certainly earlier than he's usually up and about and out of the house. Instead, today he's shivering out in the parapsych parking lot, clutching a Starbucks cup between his hands. He steps closer to John in a vain attempt to share body heat through their sweaters. Alex wishes he'd brought a heavier coat.

"D'you think the van and the car will be enough?" he asks.

"I think so," Washington says. "Laurens, thanks for volunteering your services."

"No problem," John says. "It sounds like it'll be a nice drive." John is even more exhausted than Alex, but genuinely pleased at the prospect of the drive. His cheeks are pink in the cold and Alex is too tired to deal with how badly he wants to press his lips to those spots of color. He settles for dropping one of his hands to link their fingers together.

"Thanks to all of you for making the trip this morning," Washington adds. "I appreciate the assistance. Burr, it's up to you if you'd rather travel up with me or with--"

"I'll go with you, sir," Burr says before Washington can even finish speaking. He's the only one of them that doesn't look exhausted in the weak fall twilight. Alex honestly wishes he knew how Burr does it, how he can always seem so level and so neutral. It drives him crazy.

"It's not like we're gonna be making out while I'm driving," John says. "I mean, at rest stops, maybe--"

Burr rolls his eyes hard, because John is, incongruously, one of the only people who can ruffle him. 

Washington does a poor job of hiding his smile. "It's less than an hour and a half in the car, gentlemen. I don't think there's any need to rest stops."

"You've never been in a car with Alex after he's had three cups of coffee," John says. "He has a bladder the size of a peanut."

Alex elbows him for that. "That was _one time_ and there were _extenuating circumstances._ "

John elbows him right back. "Uh, it was twice, and the 'extenuating circumstances' were the three cups of coffee and your tiny baby bladder."

Alex elbows him again, but before they can escalate any further, Washington clears his throat. 

"Can't imagine why I wouldn't want to be stuck in a car with you two for an hour," Burr says dryly. Alex cheerfully flips him off.

"That's enough, boys," Washington says. "Let's hit the road. I'll see you in Peekskill."

"Safe travels!" John says, and the four of them break up, Alex and John to John's car and Burr and Washington to the department van.

John's car is still warm from the drive over to the school. John fiddles with his phone and GoogleMaps and the audio jack and before long they're trailing behind the van and headed down the road, the GoogleMaps lady occasionally breaking into the weird, soft instrumental electronica that John likes to listen to in the morning. The car makes the only noise on the tree-lined road to the highway. The streetlights are still on and a lingering fog clings to the bushes and grass in the yards they drive by. It's like they're traveling suspended in time, especially once Washington turns towards town to hit a gas station, leaving just their car winding through the streets.

"I hate waking up, but I love the morning," John says quietly, his eyes trained on the road. Alex hums in agreement. "Everything still feels so full of promise this early. I haven't had a chance to fuck it up yet."

"You don't fuck things up," Alex says. 

John glances at him and gives him a small smile. "I didn't mean it as self-hating or whatever, just to demonstrate the newness of the day. Untapped potential, you know?"

"You don't fuck things up," Alex repeats. He reaches across the center console to rest his hand on John's knee, warm underneath his worn cords. John spares him another tiny smile and takes one hand off of the wheel to lay over Alex's. He turns back to the road and hums along with the music as they reach the turnoff to go into town and meet up with the highway.

Alex turns his hand over to knit their fingers together and John squeezes his hand. It's not the most comfortable position to be in, stretched across the front of the car, but Alex would deal with worse for a chance to hold John's hand.

***

The highway is almost as deserted as town was--it's early, yes, but it's Saturday too. They pass tractor trailers and a handful of cars as they drive up Route 287 towards New York. They talk a little about classes and a little about something shitty that Lafayette said to Herc on Thursday night and a little about the quickly approaching holiday and Mrs. Washington's insistence that they come over for a proper Thanksgiving meal. 

The scenery up the highway is spare, mostly sound barriers or strip malls, but the farther north they get, the more frequently they get bursts of nature--trees, the side of a mountain, and even a beautiful view of the start of the sunrise over a river valley that makes it hard for him to remember that there's another strip mall coming up any moment.

"This is the first long trip we've taken together," Alex muses. 

John laughs at that, short and fond. "Alex, this is an hour north of home. It's not a long trip. It's barely a trip. We've gone farther for cases."

He's not wrong, actually, but--

"But it feels different," he says.

John's quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

"It does," he agrees.

Alex spends the next few miles trying to suss out why this feels so different from their cases and research trips. The time of day, maybe, or just the fact that it _isn't_ a case--they're not loaded down with equipment and prepping for a house. They're just driving to some estate sale, loading a bunch of boxes into the car, probably stopping for a late breakfast, and then driving back home.

Maybe it's something in the air.

They cross over into New York with the sunrise, and Alex gets distracted from the story he's telling by the ease with which John exits from one highway to another to another and then off the highways altogether and onto a two lane, tree-lined road. Driving is something that seems deceptively simple from the outside but still frightens Alex a little bit. He doesn't doubt his ability to learn the functions of all the knobs and levers and pedals, but making them all work in unison, safely and smoothly, seems overwhelming. It can't be that hard--the number of morons he knows with a driver's license is ludicrous--but it feels insurmountably complicated some days.

He's happy to just watch John drive, if only because John seems so happy behind the wheel.

A few leaves remain on the trees around them, bursts of fall color between the dull brown and stubborn, fading greens of the summer. They whip by the windows, filtering the sun onto the road as it slowly continues its climb past the horizon. John cracks his window just a little, just enough to let in the smell of autumn that's permeating the air. Alex closes his eyes and breathes in, lets the scent settle into his lungs. 

When he opens his eyes again, he glances over at John and freezes.

He can't even put his finger on it, really. Something about the quality of light. Something about the time of day. Something about--there's something in the air and there's early morning autumn light streaming through the windshield and highlighting John's dark, messy curls with streaks of chestnut. His hair is coming loose from the clip holding it back and his freckles seem endless in the morning sun. He's smiling and still humming along to the music, wrapped up in his thick green sweater and faded grey cords and Alex can barely breathe.

Alex thinks he loved his father. He knows he loved his mother. He supposes he loves James, or maybe loved him. Maybe what he felt before was just a brotherly sort of affection. Maybe that's the reason it's faded to nothing more than distant curiosity in the years since they parted. Family has always been nebulous to him, something he spent more time studying than living. He felt more like an observer in the Stevens house than he did a member of the family, though they were kind to him and Ned remains a fond friend. He watched his peers at Columbia share family stories and trek back and forth for holidays with varying levels of enthusiasm. He's seen the way that Lafayette inserted himself into the Washington household and built a family around himself to replace the one he lost.

Home and family. When he first came to Morristown, he acknowledged that it would be best to put down roots. He may have breezed through a BA in two years, but the parapsych PhD has a time requirement as much as it has an instruction requirement. Licenses, certificates, exams--he can squeeze more courses into a semester than should be possible, but he can't speed up the calendar years that need to pass before his certification. The best he could do was start to establish himself while he waited. He'd make a mark, he thought. It wasn't a home. That wasn't a word he thought, a word he would ever use before he met John. Laf, too, and Hercules and the Washingtons and even Aaron Burr. A web of connections keeping him in one place, not out of obligation, but out of affection.

And at the center of it all is John, who appeared in his life as if he was dropped there by fate itself. A brilliant, sarcastic asshole with a passion to rival his own, someone smart and driven and beautiful and funny--it's like John was created for Alex to love him, and he _does_. Fiercely, selfishly, protectively. It's not hyperbolic when he says he would do anything for John. It's not a surprise he couldn't recognize this love for what it was when it first infiltrated his defenses--he's never felt this way about anything before. He didn't know that this was a way you could feel, didn't recognize immediately the implications, the enormity of what was in front of him. It was too big to get a clear picture until that afternoon that John shone a light on it for him. Alex felt dwarfed by those feelings. He still does sometimes. Times like now, staring at John and feeling the weight of them pressing against his chest, squeezing his heart.

 _You're my family now,_ he said to John, and he meant it academically. He loves John, he wants to be there for him, wants to support him. He wants to put to use all of the things he's observed in others for the past twenty years. It was a task, a label, and he meant it, of course--of course he meant it, of course he wanted it. But he doesn't think he understood it. Not until this moment.

Unconditional. That's the word at the root of it, the thing he's been missing. That's been the core of all the families he's observed and the element that was missing from his own. There were always conditions on his family, be it whatever unspoken tipping point drove his father away or the literal paperwork tying him to the Stevens family. Every relationship in his life has had a purpose. Every relationship in his life has been disposable. But, god, he would move mountains for John. They can argue, which they have, and fight, which they have, and disagree and get sullen and pissy with each other. They can spend hours on different sides of a conflict and those feelings he has never waver or dim. He would help John rob a bank or hide a body. He would give John everything he has--and, really, he did already. Their belongings are intermingled and soon their finances will be too. He's given John the shameful details of his history and the closely guarded secret of his life's work. 

His work has been the center of his life. It was his ticket out of his past, it's his promise of a brighter future. He's hung everything on his work, every hope and dream, every fantasy of the future. Or he had. Those fantasies are different now, those dreams have changed, and for the first time in his life, at the end of the day there's something more important to him than his daily word count.

It's like seeing his whole story rewritten before his eyes. An abrupt shift in the plot, and suddenly, he doesn't know the outcome any longer. Suddenly, the possibilities are endless. Suddenly, he's not the only one writing the story.

They hit a pothole or a patch of uneven road--the car jolts just a little, but it's enough to tear Alex from the revelation that's sent his pulse racing. He makes himself breathe, in and out, and then pulls his phone from the cupholder, willing his hands to stop shaking long enough to take a picture. He gets it, somehow--John, beautiful, awake, smiling, a vibrant portrait of warm autumn colors, a single frame that makes him feel the way he did when John cracked the window and the scent of dead leaves rushed into the car. 

Alex squeezes the phone in his hand until the plastic of the case bites into his fingers, pressing it up against his chest and continuing to stare at the new direction of his future. The song changes, from John's usual weird electronica into something more folky. 

John laughs and shakes his head. "Oh, shit, I forgot that all of Mattie's shit was on this playlist. She sent me a bunch of--" He turns to glance at Alex and the words halt, his expression twisting from amusement to concern. "Alex, are you alright?"

"I love you so much," Alex says, his throat dry.

"Okay," John says slowly. "Uh, I know?"

"No," Alex says. He gestures a little maniacally, his phone falling to his lap and bouncing to the floor of the passenger seat. "You don't know! You--I've never loved anyone like this! And I thought I knew what that meant, but I don't, I didn't, not until right this moment, not until I realized--never! Even my family, it was always missing something, and it's here! I've found it, it's here, I have it with you, I have everything! My whole life is just--you changed my whole life, everything is different now, everything is--" He gestures again, futilely. John glances back and forth between the road and Alex, his expression increasingly more confused. "I'm not--I'm not explaining it right."

"That's okay," John says. His tone is gentle, even as he chews on his bottom lip in his struggle to understand.

"It's not," Alex says. "I just--" How is it John always steals his words away? Twenty-one years and no one has ever been able to make him this tongue-tied, this incapable of expression. "I think my whole life changed a few weeks ago, my entire life plan, and I'm just realizing it now." 

That still doesn't seem to make things any clearer to John. Alex sighs. He'll have to think this over and regroup. He looks down the stretch of road in front of them and the stretch of road behind them--there are no cars visible in either direction and they seem to have a straight shot for at least a little while longer, so Alex risks leaning over as far as his seatbelt will let him and pressing a kiss to John's temple.

"I'll tell you later," Alex says. 

John tries to bite his lip to hide his smile, even as his ears flush. "Okay. Whatever you want." He turns back to the road, the smile lingering as he quietly sings along to the music. 

Alex watches him for another moment and then rolls his own window down just enough to feel the fall breeze in his hair. He sits back to enjoy the rest of the ride and take stock of the world that's just expanded before his eyes.

***

Too quickly, they're out of the woods and approaching the Hudson River. Alex wants to stay on the winding, wooded road forever, sitting comfortably with John, talking and laughing and existing in affectionate tandem. He's not thinking about work or how much he has to do or what he wants to accomplish. He's not thinking about anything but making John smile. It's a rare peace, a moment suspended in time. 

A car goes by, then another, and then the road opens up in the lead up to a traffic circle.

"You should text Burr and let him know we're about ten minutes away," John says. "See where they are."

"Sure," Alex says, and tries not to let himself dwell on their return to the real world.

 _ETA 10 min_ , he sends to Burr. He watches the animation that indicates Burr's typing a response for what seems like whole minutes.

 _According to the GPS we're 10min behind you_ , Burr replies.

Alex relays the information to John, then types back, _Cool, thanks._

"Can you do me a favor?" John asks as they near the bridge over the Hudson.

"Anything," Alex says, with maybe more sincerity than the question warrants. John just smiles, though.

"Can you take some pictures?" He gestures towards the river, the mountains. "It looks like we're going down the river along the side of the mountain and I bet it's gonna be beautiful, but I can't take pictures and drive at the same time."

"Of course," Alex says. "But I value my life, so I'm not using your camera. I'll take them on my phone. They won't be, you know...good."

"They'll be good enough," John promises, and they exit the traffic circle and head over the bridge.

Alex takes photos and video. He tries to get the trees, the river, the clouds, the mountain, and when he thinks he's gotten enough scenery, he turns the camera on John and takes a few of him, too.

"Don't fuck around," John says, ducking his head away as much as he can manage while still being a conscientious driver.

"I'm not fucking around," Alex says. "It's my phone. I can take pictures of you if I want. I like to look at you."

"Shut up," John mutters, but the way he's biting his lip does nothing to hide his shy smile.

***

The estate sale doesn't open until nine, but the estate manager promised to be on site between seven and seven thirty to unload the books and files being donated to the university. There's one car parked on the long, curving driveway when John pulls up, but the tables out front are empty and the house looks dark. 

John slows the car and parks it, leaning over to peer out Alex's window and up at the house. "I guess we should wait for Washington?"

"I guess," Alex agrees. 

"Cool. I'm gonna stretch my legs."

John unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out, stretching his arms out and rocking up onto his toes. Alex watches him for a moment, turning in a slow circle with his arms in the air and his head tipped back. More of his hair has fallen out of its clip, and Alex can't stand it a moment longer. 

He fumbles to unbuckle his seatbelt and nearly trips out of the car. John turns at the commotion, smiling in Alex's direction as he rushes over, his sneakers slapping against the asphalt. He wraps an arm around John's waist and uses the other to cup his cheek. Alex looks at him for a long moment, takes in the color of his eyes and the curve of his lips and his freckles and the little dimples he gets when he's smiling wide enough to show all of his teeth. And then Alex kisses him.

He raises his other hand to curl around John's neck and hold him still and close. He's gotten really good at turning a kiss from chaste to filthy in half a heartbeat, but that's not what he wants right now. He wants to kiss this new understanding into John's mouth, to explain through actions what he realized this morning. He wants to show John how much he loves him and why it's so important, why it's so revolutionary.

He doesn't know if any of that gets across, if any of it comes through for John. He pulls away when he's dizzy and lightheaded, surprised to find they've backed up several steps. John's leaning his back against the side of the car and he's pulled Alex all the way against him, taking all of his weight and rubbing his back. He looks as flushed and breathless as Alex feels.

"Hey," John murmurs.

"Hi," Alex says, and leans down a fraction of an inch to kiss him again, a shared breath between them and a brush of lips, then two, then three. He rests his forehead against John's and closes his eyes and they just breathe for a moment, standing close in the chilly November morning.

"I just...I've never...it's not just that I've never loved anyone like this before," Alex says, eyes still closed. "It's that I never expected to. I never imagined I could. I literally never imagined it. I didn't know it was possible to love someone the way I love you. The way people talk about loving their families--that unconditional love, that...that unwavering devotion. I thought that was stories. I thought that was a choice, I guess, that you look at your parents and your siblings and decide that this is how you're supposed to love them. I didn't realize it was something you could feel. I didn't realize that you could wake up knowing that you'd find a way to pull the moon out of the sky for someone if they asked you for it."

He dips his head down so he can rest it on John's shoulder, pressed into the crook of his neck. He can hear how quickly John's heart is beating, feel the slow, unsteady exhale as John's chin settles on the top of his head. He has to blink back sudden tears.

"Alexander," John says softly, but he doesn't add anything further. He shifts his grip so his arms are wrapped tightly around Alex's back, Alex rising and falling with each halting breath that John takes. "You have to know I feel the same way."

"I honestly can't imagine anyone else feeling this," Alex admits. "It seems impossible, even though I'm feeling it, you know? I can't wrap my head around it."

"If it helps, the idea that anyone would feel that way about me is absurd," John says. "To me, at least. I'm nothing."

"You're everything," Alex says. It should be a cheesy response, but Alex thinks he's never sounded or felt so earnest in his life. 

John must agree, because he doesn't object again and his breath hitches audibly. His fingers fist in Alex's sweater and pull him impossibly closer, but he doesn't object.

They stay that way even after Alex's back starts to protest and his fingers start to get cold. They stay that way until he hears the parapsych department van turn into the driveway and roll up towards them. The engine cuts and the doors open one after another, then shut.

"Gentlemen?" Washington says. "Is anything wrong?" 

Alex straightens up slowly. He rests his hands on John's chest and looks at him for a moment. They share a smile, small and secret, and John brushes a stray wisp of hair behind Alex's ear.

Alex turns around, his eyes still probably a little too bright, a little too wet, but he can't bring himself to care, especially since he knows John's are no better.

"We're fine," Alex says. But they're more than fine, aren't they? "We're amazing. Are we ready to go in?"

Washington is gazing at them with something not unlike fondness, just a slight shift from his usual unreadable expression. Even Burr looks less condescendingly blank than he normally might.

"We are," Washington says. "Let's get these boxes loaded up. Breakfast is on me before we head back."

"Then let's get going." John his eyes on the back of his hand as discreetly as he can, which isn't very discreetly at all. "I'm starving." 

Washington nods and then leads the way towards the front of the house. Burr follows quickly after, but John stays put for a moment and extends his hand to Alex.

Alex takes it. Squeezes it. Tangles their fingers together.

It's a little cliche, maybe, a little over the top, but they hold hands all the way inside to the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're one chapter away from the end, kids. Thanks for sticking with me through this thing ♥
> 
> On Friday: Thanksgiving and an olive branch. Stay tuned!


	10. Chapter Nine: Sweet Potato Casserole and an Olive Branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a casserole and has a crush. Alex celebrates his first Thanksgiving and makes a concession. Lafayette cries about Santa. Washington regrets many of his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, here we are. Wow.
> 
> I'll do some more gross emotional unwieldy thanks at the end, but thanks to YOU for sticking with this strange premise, thanks to Lin for writing this dumb show, and SO. MANY. THANKS. to **littledust** who read EVERY STINKING WORD OF THIS MONSTROSITY and line edited it. For free. In her spare time. In addition to her incredibly demanding and important full time job. I bought her dinner and a drink last night, but I will be buying her many more drinks in the future. Thank you for your friendship, bb ♥

The Monday before Thanksgiving, there's a message from Mrs. Washington waiting in Alex's inbox. It's strange for two reasons--first off, Alex didn't even know Mrs. W _had_ his email, although the email naming convention at the university isn't that hard to crack. The second reason is that it's five thirty in the morning and Alex has always figured the rest of the world was still in bed during the early hours that he and John prepared to leave for John's library shift.

"What's up?" John leans against the wall to the bedroom, pulling his his hair back and squinting sleepily at Alex. 

"We got an email from Mrs. W," Alex says, because he's opened it now--the subject line just says "Thursday" and that's the opposite of helpful--and sees that it's been sent to not only Alex, but Laf, John, Burr, von Steuben, and at least a dozen other names, some of which Alex recognizes and some he doesn't. Washington is cc'ed as well.

"What's it about?" John asks.

"Uh...." Alex thumbs down, skimming the text. "Oh. I guess it's a list of things we should bring to Thanksgiving?"

"Oh." John frowns and leans a little more heavily against the wall. "Right. C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"Let me just get my shoes." Alex shoves his phone into his pocket. He can look at the message in more detail later.

The campus seems even more deserted than it normally is at quarter to six. When they get to the library, John's supervisor, Jo, is sitting at the main desk with her feet propped up on another chair, reading a comic book.

"Computer lab one. The campus is already clearing out for the break, so I'll be shocked if anyone comes before eight or nine. Boyfriend, feel free to hang around in the lab with him--it's gonna be slow." She says it all without looking up, then turns a page.

"Uh, great," Alex says. 

"Buzz me if you need anything," John says, and leads them down to the computer lab.

Alex makes himself comfortable while John turns on the lights and the computers. He finished his grading over the weekend and he's up to date on his coursework, but there's always more reading to be done. He starts with social media, though--a back read of both Twitter accounts, a quick glance at Facebook, and then a few moments to comb through his blog comments. John finishes booting up the lab and flops into the chair next to him, pulling out his own laptop.

They work side-by-side in the silent room for a few minutes. John is still half-asleep, the way he always is at the start of his shift, and Alex doesn't mind giving him a chance to wake up. He turns his attention to the email inbox once he's skimmed the four hours of Twitter that he missed, and is once again faced with the ominous "Thursday" email from Mrs. W.

_Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!_

_George and I are so pleased that you'll be joining us for Thanksgiving this year. Since we started this little tradition, Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday._

_For those of you who have never attended Thanksgiving with us before, let me assure you that we're not exaggerating when we say all are welcome. If any of your friends or spouses or classmates need somewhere to go on Thursday, don't hesitate to invite them. All I ask is that you let me know by Wednesday at five._

_Dinner will be at 4pm sharp. Below is the current menu. If you'd like to contribute, email the group so we don't end up with six apple pies again, but don't feel as if you have to bring anything at all. We're happy just to have you with us._

_I'll see you all on Thursday!  
-Martha Washington_

Below the message is a list of foods so long Alex gapes. American Thanksgiving is a riot, all right.

Before he can close the email, a box pops up in the lower right corner informing him that a new message has been added to the thread. He clicks on it and has to blink a few times to assure himself that he's seeing things correctly--the email is from John.

_Thank you so much for opening your home to us, ma'am. I'll be bringing a sweet potato casserole._

"Wait, what?" Alex says aloud.

"What?" John asks, rubbing one eye with his fist when he turns to look at Alex.

"You, with the--" Alex gestures at his computer.

"Jesus christ, Alex, it's six am, please use a full sentence."

Alex gestures at his computer again. "Did you offer to bring a casserole to the Washingtons'?"

John blinks at him. "Yes?" 

"Do you...know how to make a casserole?" He realizes that's probably a stupid question--John wouldn't have offered if he couldn't come through--but normally John's culinary skills are more in the realm of boxed mac and cheese.

"I mean, I've never made one before. But I used to watch my mom make it every year and I have her recipe, so." He shrugs. 

"This holiday makes you all crazy, you know that?" Alex says. "The whole country goes into a weird, consumerist, food-obsessed daze."

"Oh, right," John says, "you wouldn't have had Thanksgiving growing up, would you?"

"Correct," Alex says. "I managed to avoid the genocidal, revisionist mess your people turned into a holiday."

"Hey, only half of my people," John says. "The other half only came over from Puerto Rico like, fifty years ago. And you're being a shit and I know you, so I know it's on purpose. It's not about Black Friday and the pilgrims and all of that shit. Not really."

"I'm not just being a shit!" Alex insists and it's mostly not a lie. "It's just...weird. To pretend it's all about gratitude and family and shit, when really it's an excuse to eat a lot and go shopping at two am and pretend Europeans didn't murder the shit out of the indigenous population."

John kicks him. "You're so fucking cynical."

"You're normally cynical too!"

"Yeah, but...I mean, obviously there are a lot of people who only care about shopping and eating or whatever, but it's not all pretend. It's nice, spending time with people you love and taking time to think about why you love them." John closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. "I'm too fucking tired to argue with you over this right now. Remind me after lunch and I'll explain why you're an asshole."

Alex feels a little guilty for piling on John so early and even more guilty when he reviews their conversation and zeroes in on John's explanation of why he volunteered to make a casserole. _I used to watch my mom make it...._

Yeah, Alex doesn't need John to explain why he's an asshole.

He backs off Thanksgiving and rolls his chair closer to John so he can knock their shoulders together. John yawns and leans into him, so he can't be too mad, and Alex relaxes and pulls out one of his books. Maybe he can get a jump start on some of the reading he wants to get done over their break. 

John doesn't get around to explaining why Alex is an asshole that afternoon--it's actually a strangely calm day. Even though everyone is anxious for Thanksgiving break, they're quiet instead of boisterous. Alex zones out in the afternoon, working so intricately on adding some upgrades to an Ovilus V that it's almost dinner time when he looks up. John's equally enthralled with a video he's examining, so Alex gets pizza on campus with Laf and brings some back for him. When they're finally ready to leave, the building is nearly deserted.

They stop at the grocery store on their way home, even though Alex can tell John is flagging. But they've had that argument, now--they've come to their compromise--so he doesn't comment, just grabs and cart and follows John into the teeming mass of people inside.

"This place is insane," Alex says. Sure, they usually end up at the grocery store at less traditional hours, but even the few times they have come after work he hasn't seen it like this.

"It's the week of Thanksgiving, Alex," John says. "What did you expect?"

"Like I said this morning, this dumb holiday makes you all crazy."

John rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out to consult his shopping list. "Let's just get this stuff and get out of here." 

Alex can certainly agree to that. He trails after John, leaning over the front of the cart and occasionally resting his weight on it and coasting down the aisles. John is taking a really disproportionate amount of time to consider each brand of each ingredient. It's a whole lot of dedication for someone that Alex has seen burn grilled cheese fairly regularly. 

"Babe, don't take this as an insult--"

"A sure sign that whatever's coming out of your mouth next is bound to be insulting," John murmurs, and decides on the generic brown sugar, which he turns and drops in the cart.

"Ha ha," Alex says. "But, seriously, why are you so intent on making this thing? You're not usually, like...enthusiastic about cooking."

John moves down the aisle to examine the spice section, trailing his fingers along the shelf.

"I just...I've been thinking a lot." John leans over to inspect the different brands of cinnamon in really obviously feigned indecision; Alex knows when John's making excuses so he doesn't have to look at him. "About what you said. What we talked about. About...you know."

Alex does not know.

"Family," John finally says. He picks up a plastic jar of cinnamon and drops it into the cart without turning around. He moves on to the ginger with the same feigned scrutiny. "I've been thinking about family. And how this is like...my new family. You, obviously." He clears his throat. "Um, but the Washingtons too. Laf. Herc. And this was--this was my mom's thing. It's so dumb--it's not like it's a family recipe of hers, I think she pulled it out of a fucking magazine or something, but she made it every year and then she died and--" 

He throws a container of ginger into the cart.

"I just thought...it's a thing that means family to me. So I thought I'd share it with you guys. Because. You know."

Alex does know.

John grabs a container of nutmeg blindly and keeps going down the aisle. He pauses at the end and pulls out his phone to check his list. Alex uses the break as an opportunity to step away from the cart and wrap his arms around John's waist from behind him. John's shoulders go tight and tense for just a moment before he relaxes and leans his weight back against Alex.

"I'm sure it'll be great," Alex says.

John snorts. "Uh, it'll be garbage--I'm still the one making it and I fucked up making rice so badly last week that I had to throw an actual pot in the trash."

"Is that what happened to that pot?" Alex asks. 

John elbows him and wiggles away. "Come on, I wanna get home before ten,."

John marches off to the next aisle. He turns around as he does it, though, and Alex doesn't miss his smile.

John's not smiling two days later, however, when he's staring down a burnt casserole and a whole additional set of ingredients, bought hastily at ShopRite amid even longer lines.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he says to Alex for the fifth time. "I have absolutely no idea. Why did I volunteer to do this? I don't know how to make a casserole."

"You said you used to watch your mom make it," Alex says. "It can't be that hard, right?"

"I don't know!" John says. He runs his hand through his hair and looks at the recipe again. "This is so dumb, I'm in grad school, I should be able to make a fucking casserole! How did I fuck it up that badly? How am I gonna figure out how to do it right this time if I don't know how I fucked it up that badly?!"

"Lots of people like burnt marshmallows," Alex adds helpfully, poking at the charred top of the ruined dish with a spatula. John glares at him. "And, hey, at least the apartment doesn't smell like burning anymore?"

"You need to go away before I murder you," John says, his mouth a thin line. 

"I'm being helpful!" Alex insists.

"You're the opposite of helpful, you shithead!" John throws a dish towel at him and collapses into a kitchen chair, dropping his head onto the table and covering it with his arms. "This is so embarrassing."

"Hey, come on." Alex drapes the dish towel over his shoulder and takes the seat next to John. "It's not that bad. There's like, a fuckton of food coming in tomorrow. It's not like Mrs. W is gonna be upset if we explain what happened."

"That's even more embarrassing," John says, his words muffled. "I've gotta do it. I don't know how, but I've gotta do it. I promised. And...tradition. And family. And all of that shit."

"Sure," Alex says. Maybe it's hypocritical considering he spent an afternoon crying in the car about how much he loves John and how important he is and family and shit like that, but Alex is failing to see the big deal about the casserole. He pats John's back just as his phone vibrates on the table with a text. It's from Herc.

_yo sos you wanna get a drink?_

Another one comes in on its heels: _my brother's being a shitbag i gotta get out of the house. happy fucking holidays to the mulligans._

_Can't_ , Alex types back, then adds, _We're trying to make a casserole for Thanksgiving tomorrow and John's melting down because he can't figure out how he fucked up his first try._

Herc's response arrives mere seconds later:

_shit man i'll be over in ten_  
_i can whip up a casserole no problem_  
_need anything?_

Huh. He wouldn't have guessed Herc liked making casseroles. He really didn't think anyone outside of old grandmas actively liked making casseroles.

_I think we got everything, but thanks. See you soon!_

"Herc's coming over," Alex tells John, rubbing his back. "He seemed pretty sure he could help out."

John lifts his head. "Hercules? Like, our friend?"

"Yeah. He says he'll be ten minutes."

If nothing else, John is shocked enough that he stops moaning in despair.

It takes Hercules even less than ten minutes to show up at their apartment, and he looks just shy of gleeful when he joins them in the kitchen.

"Hey, man," he says to John as they fist bump. "What the hell happened?"

"I literally have no idea," John says. "I did everything the way the instructions said to and I put it in the oven and the next thing I knew it was on fire."

Hercules examines the charred remains of the casserole and then examines the oven.

"Okay," he says, "cooking 101: keep the racks in the center of the oven unless the recipe says otherwise. The rack was too close to the top coils and sugar catches on fire fucking quickly." He grabs an oven mitt off of the counter and opens the oven, then adjusts the racks. When he closes it, he moves over to the ingredients spread out over the counter. "Oh yeah. This'll be a piece of cake. Get over here, Laurens--I'm gonna teach you how to make a sweet potato casserole."

Alex hops up on the counter to watch. It's actually pretty cute; Herc explains every step of the recipe and stands next to John, but makes John complete each step himself. John chops up the sweet potatoes, he mashes them once they're cooked, he adds the spices and eggs and all sorts of other shit. It takes about half the time it took John to make the first one, even with Herc stopping to explain different steps and cooking terms. In less than half an hour, the second casserole is in the oven, Herc is stashing the last of the ingredients away, and John is piling the dirty dishes in the sink.

"That was fucking amazing," Alex says. "I didn't know you could cook!"

"When I was a kid, I used to cook with my ma all the time." Herc opens their fridge and pulls out three beers. He passes one to each of them. 

John dries his hands on a dishtowel before accepting his. He moves to stand between Alex's knees, nearly sagging against the counter. "That's cool. I guess I shouldn't be that surprised. You have the weirdest and most varied interests of anyone I've ever fucking met and I went to school in Europe."

Herc shrugs. "Dunno why it fascinated me so much. But I loved to watch and help when I could. My ma, she loved it--my sister wasn't crazy about cooking and you couldn't get Hugh in the fucking kitchen if you tried. But I'd stick around. When shit started to go south with my family, it was the only time we weren't shouting at each other, you know? I don't really get a chance to do it anymore. It's a waste cooking for one all the time."

"That sucks," John says. He leans back against Alex's chest and Alex shifts slightly to redistribute his weight. He ends up with his ankles crossed over John's stomach, leaning back against the cabinet doors.

"It is what it is, as Ma would say." Herc shrugs. "I've got enough to keep me busy."

"Well, feel free to stop by any time and cook for us," John says. "Laf and I are terrible and Alex knows fifty ways to make ramen, but hasn't met a vegetable he couldn't set on fire."

"You make good eggs." Alex cards his fingers absently through John's hair. "And grilled cheese."

"Yeah, well, an infant can scramble an egg," John says. "And last week I burned all our grilled cheeses. And, thanks, Herc, seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't saved my ass."

"You'd've figured it out," Herc says dismissively. "It was a good excuse to go out and ignore my fucking brother's texts for a few hours."

"Why don't you just come to the Washingtons' with us tomorrow?" Alex asks. 'Asks' is maybe too mild--the question nearly explodes out of him. "You don't get on with your family and I know you think Mrs. W doesn't like you, but like, fucking _Burr_ is coming, you won't be the worst person there."

"'Not the worst person,'" Herc says. "Thanks, Ham, I'm touched."

"You know what I mean," Alex says. "She keeps telling us to invite anyone we know who needs a place to go."

"I appreciate it," Herc says, "but I don't need a place to go. I'll go to my nan's, like always."

"But if you don't even _like_ them--"

"Doesn't matter," Herc says, cutting him off. "Family is family. Sometimes you put up with shitty stuff. It's different rules, I guess. You're playing a different game when family gets involved."

"Hear, hear," John mutters, and raises his beer bottle in salute.

"But that's _stupid_ ," Alex insists.

"Nah," Herc says. "Or. Maybe a little. Like Ma says, it is what it is. Nothing wrong with getting out if you want to or need to, but I don't. I can't. Not yet. There's too much history. It's not dangerous or harmful, just...unpleasant."

It still sounds like madness to Alex. He has to force himself to sit through classes with people he doesn't like--he can't imagine spending the holidays with people he hates over and over and over again. 

"Anyway," Herc says, pushing himself off the edge of the table, "I'll stick around until you take that out to make sure you don't fuck it up again. The fucking traitorous Nets are playing tonight. Might as well watch."

Alex watches Herc amble towards the living room, still frowning.

"The Nets are a basketball team," John says, misunderstanding the source of Alex's unease. "They used to be in New Jersey, they moved to Brooklyn a couple years ago. And Herc's--"

"Jersey as fuck, yeah, I've been told," Alex says. "That's not what I--" He nudges John until he straightens up and turns around to face Alex. "If I ever--don't ever feel like you've gotta spend time with me even if you hate me, alright? Like, I know I said 'family' and I know I said 'always,' but--"

John reaches up and takes Alex's face between his hands, his expression unreadable.

"Alexander, I love you," John tells him. "I do. And sometimes I'm gonna be pissed at you and sometimes I'm not gonna be able to stand the sight of you and sometimes you're gonna drive me crazy, but...that's what love is, okay? Caring about someone even when you disagree or get mad. That's what _family_ is. That's especially what this--this family you're making--you're choosing us, right? So you get to choose people who probably aren't gonna turn out to be secret assholes. I mean, I can only speak for myself, but I made it pretty clear I was an asshole from the get go."

Alex cracks a smile and leans down to rest his forehead against John's.

"You're an asshole, but you're my asshole."

"I am," John promises. He rocks up on his toes and presses the ghost of a kiss against Alex's lips. "Come on, let's go watch the game with Herc."

Alex groans. Sports are up there with family under "Things Alex Doesn't Understand."

"Let's go cuddle and make out on the couch while Herc watches the game?" John tries instead.

"That sounds more my speed." Alex hops off the counter and lets John drag him to the living room to wait out the oven timer.

***

In an unexpected turn of events, when Alex wakes up on Thursday morning, John is already out of bed. His pillow is still warm, so he can't have been gone for all that long. Alex stares at the empty space next to him for a moment, perplexed, and then rolls out of bed to investigate. He pulls on sweats and a hoodie and ventures out into the apartment.

He doesn't have to look far. The television is on in the living room, Lafayette is perched on the far side of the couch, and there's a foot peeking over the opposite armrest that's very familiar indeed.

When Alex gets closer, he sees that John is asleep again, sprawled out on his stomach with his head pillowed on Laf's thigh. On the television, a marching band performs amid cheers and confetti and all sorts of shit. Lafayette is completely enraptured.

"What the fuck?" Alex asks.

"He's holding me hostage," John moans. He opens his eyes and blinks up at Alex. "I got up to take a piss and he dragged me over here."

"It's the Macy's Parade!" Lafayette gestures towards the television. "It's tradition to watch it on the morning of Thanksgiving!"

"You've only lived in this country for five years," Alex says, but he lifts up John's legs and sits with them. He drops John's legs back down onto his lap and strokes one of his ankles.

"It only takes a year to make a tradition," Lafayette says loftily. "That is what Martha says."

"Laf is America's punishment for every high school girl who pins pictures of the Eiffel Tower in her locker and every college asshole hipster who bores the shit out of girls at bars with opinions about French cinema," John mutters. "We went to a Mets game in August and he cried when they played the national anthem."

Lafayette sniffs. "It was very moving."

"So it's just...marching bands?" Alex asks. 

"And floats and balloons and performances! It's all very exciting--it highlights so much of what I love about this country."

A nationally televised parade sponsored by a department store certainly does seem American to its core, but probably not in the way Laf means. Certainly not in a way that Alex is going to manage to get through without coffee.

"I'm gonna make coffee." Alex slides out from under John's legs again.

"Get me some too," John mumbles.

"Why should I do that?" Alex asks.

"Because you love me," John says with a yawn. It's a valid point.

"Fine."

"Me too," Laf says. Before Alex can ask, he adds, "Because it is my coffee maker and my coffee."

"Fair," Alex admits. "I'll be right back."

Alex makes a full pot of coffee and brings three mugs back to the couch, where they watch the rest of the very strange, very commercial parade. At the end, Santa Claus rides down the street and Lafayette actually cries hard enough that Alex hands him a box of tissues. Afterwards, Laf retreats into his room ("Probably to jerk off to the preamble to the Constitution." "I did not need that mental image, Laurens.") and Alex and John spend the rest of the morning lying on the couch together and channel surfing. 

Eventually, at Laf's urging, they manage to get up and get dressed and make themselves presentable. John carries the casserole down to his car like it might explode if he moves the wrong way and then they're off to the Washingtons'.

Alex spends a lot more time at the Washingtons' house than he would have expected on the day Washington came out to Columbia to interview him, more even than he would have guessed after that first lunch on the second day of orientation. In all that time, however, he's never seen the place so busy. They're early, but the driveway is already full and there are two cars parked on the street. Laf's, of course, and Washington's SUV and Mrs. W's station wagon, but the other three are unfamiliar. Alex feels a momentary pang of jealousy at the thought of other students being as familial with the Washingtons as he and John have become.

Mrs. Washington meets them at the door and kisses both their cheeks before taking the casserole from John.

"Happy Thanksgiving, boys," she says as they take off their coats. "And don't you look nice--John, I don't think I've ever seen your hair down before."

John raises his hand to tug absentmindedly on a few curls. "Thanks. It's only worth it for special occasions. It gets in the way at the lab and someone who will remain nameless can't keep his hands out of it." 

Alex smiles beatifically. "I have no idea what he's talking about. Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. W."

They did make a point to dress nicely for the occasion and would have even without Lafayette reminding them twenty times. Alex drew the line at his uncomfortable dress pants, but they're both sporting button downs and pullovers, which was a good choice, judging by the rest of the people milling around.

"You know Gilbert, of course." Mrs. W in front of the living room, where everyone has congregated. She points towards a beautiful black girl standing by the window, a few years older than them and on the chubby side, sporting cornrows and a bright purple dress. "That's my daughter, Patsy. The redhead with her is her friend, Olivia. At least, I think they're friends." She frowns, consideringly. "Patsy's been cagey and it's been months since she was seeing anyone--not that it matters to you." She shakes herself back to the point. "Anyway, I don't know if you're familiar with Richard Meade, who works with Friedrich, I believe?" Alex vaguely recognizes the boy she points to as a fourth year working with von Steuben, dark hair and flushed, round cheeks, already halfway into a glass of wine. "And in the corner is--"

"John Trumbull," John says breathlessly.

Alex recognizes the name. He's something of a photography savant when it comes to parapsych work. He's only a few years out of his doctorate and he's already patented two really remarkable spirit photography filters. He studied under Washington, so it makes sense that he's here, but he's also way more handsome than Alex would have guessed. He has dark hair and eyes, with an easy smile that wouldn't be out of place on the movie poster for some kind of romcom. Alex shifts uncomfortably and glances at John, who may as well have hearts for eyes.

"I see you're familiar with Mr. Trumbull, then?" Mrs. W says.

"He wrote this paper--like, yeah, most people know him because of the filters, and they're great, but he wrote this paper that explores the practicality of getting good shots of spirits on all different levels and it's like _poetry_ ," John says.

"Well, then," Mrs. W says. "I'll leave you boys to it and put this in the kitchen. Does it need to be re-heated?"

John snaps out of his starry-eyed daze and turns back to Mrs. Washington. "Sorry, ma'am. I can help, you don't have to--"

"Nonsense," Mrs. W says. "You're a guest. George and Patsy and Gilbert will help when the time comes. Reheat, yes or no?"

"Yes," John says. "And if you change your mind--"

"Go sit down, Mr. Laurens," Mrs. W says, walking away. "Pour yourself a glass of wine--you know where the drinks are."

"Let's get a drink," John says once she's walked away. "And we can--" He turns to Alex for the first time and Alex isn't sure what his face looks like, but it's enough to make John roll his eyes so hard Alex is surprised he doesn't break something. "Don't be a shithead," he says, and punches Alex's arm.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Alex rubs the spot John hit and definitely doesn't pout.

"Yeah, right. You know how much I love your stupid face."

"Whatever," Alex says, and pretends he doesn't feel a little bit better when John takes him by the hand and drags him into the room.

Laf sees them and immediately herds them from guest to guest to make personal introductions. He seems to know everyone in the room. Patsy, despite being at least a foot shorter than he is, pulls him down to administer sisterly noogies. Meade tells them he's seen them around the school with Laf and Trumbull says Lafayette was just talking about John's interest in photography.

"Oh, I'm not--" John starts to say, eyes wide, and Alex's unceasing desire to brag about John to anyone who will sit still long enough wins out over the awkward way he feels about John's obvious crush.

"He's amazing," Alex says immediately. "He's really just--incredible, honestly, I know I'm biased, but I've been studying the paranormal for, like, seven years and some of the stuff he gets on film--where's my camera?"

"Oh my god, Alexander, please stop." John sounds fairly mortified 

Alex does not stop. Alex pulls out his phone. John covers his face with both his hands.

"I don't understand why you have no self-esteem about this shit," Alex says.

He walks over to Trumbull and maybe purposely gives him a second to take in Alex's homescreen, a selfie with John where they're gazing at each other with a really disgusting amount of affection. "No, actually, I take it back, I totally understand why you have no self-esteem. Thankfully, I have enough for both of us."

"You're such an asshole," John groans. 

Alex ignores him and opens the folder in his photos that's dedicated to copies of interesting case pictures. He hands his phone to Trumbull, who slowly flicks through them. He seems genuinely impressed. As he should. Because John is incredible.

"No, your boyfriend is right," Trumbull says. "This one is amazing. What is that, a level two residual spirit? It's clear as day here." He turns the phone around for John to see.

John tentatively lowers his hands. He's blushing, but there's a hint of pride starting to come through in his smile and he's _adorable_ and Alex loves him so _fucking_ much he could burst.

"Well," John says, "we knew going in that it was either a level one or level two, and, you can't see this from the picture, but there was a skylight-y window thing high up on the wall that was doing weird things to the natural light...."

Alex listens proudly for a few minutes, until the specifics of the photography work start to bore him to the point where he's restless. He murmurs his departure into John's ear, then wanders over to join Lafayette in a conversation with Meade.

The gathering grows pretty steadily after that, with some people Alex knows--von Steuben and Burr, among others--and some people he doesn't. A little after four, Washington comes in to tell them dinner will be a few more minutes and then sticks around when he hears Alex and Burr and Ben Walker arguing over whether spirit strength should be reclassified now that measurement equipment is more sensitive.

"Wow, I think this is the farthest from Laurens I've ever seen you when you weren't in class," Dolley Payne says behind him at a lull in the debate. 

Alex takes a step back to allow her into the conversation. "I don't know why everyone is always saying that! We do stuff on our own all the time!"

Ben snorts off to Alex's left and Alex flips him off without looking up.

"You guys seriously exaggerate our clinginess," Alex continues. "Yeah, we spend a lot of time together, but we're not, like, _inseparable_." 

Dolley and Burr are both looking past Alex, amused by something. He turns around and there, with the world's worst timing, is John, holding two glasses of wine.

"Hey, babe, I brought you a drink," John says. 

Alex closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was trying to do a thing." When he opens his eyes, John has raised a single eyebrow. "You kinda stepped all over it."

"I could keep the wine," John suggests. 

"I didn't say _that_." Alex takes one of the glasses from him quickly. He uses the other hand to tug the sleeve of John's sweater until he joins them in the semicircle of conversation, but halfway through that movement he glances over John's shoulder and freezes.

He is not seeing what he fucking thinks he's seeing. There's no way.

"What's wrong?" John asks, bumping his shoulder against Alex's.

Alex gestures sharply while grasping for his words. "Is that _James Madison_?"

"What the hell would James Madison be doing--" John starts to say dismissively, until he turns his head and sees what Alex is seeing "Holy shit, that's James Madison."

"Who's James Madison?" Ben asks.

"A skeptic!" John says.

"And a poli-sci grad student," Alex adds.

"His best friend hates Alex."

"His best friend is a douchebag."

"We've had some, uh--"

"--encounters. They're not exactly--"

"--friendly. They're kind of homophobic? Well, Jefferson is."

"And did we mention they're skeptics?"

Ben waves his hands quickly at them before they continue. "Can Ham and Laurens stop being...Ham and Laurens for a second? And then could someone explain in English?"

Alex takes a deep breath to spill the entire story--from meeting Madison in the library that first day to John almost decking Jefferson to the shitty run-ins they've had since--when Dolley clears her throat.

"Um." Alex doesn't know that he's ever seen her look this unsure. He almost doesn't recognize her. "I invited him?"

Alex gapes at her.

"You what?" John asks. He's more shocked that pissed. 

Alex is quickly becoming more pissed than shocked. "He's a _skeptic!_ " He says it loud enough that a few people glance in his direction, including Madison himself.

"Not everything is about work, okay, Ham?" Dolley hisses. "He's a nice guy and he didn't have anywhere else to go. He's really sweet when he's not around Thomas."

"He's a skeptic!" Alex repeats in a whisper so loud he might as well say it in his normal voice.

"And, as Ms. Payne said, he has nowhere else to go and this dinner is open to everyone," Washington says. "He's my guest and you'll treat him with respect." He looks back and forth between Alex and John with the look that says _don't push_. Alex only listens to that look about half the time, but it's a holiday and they're in the Washingtons' living room and not the lab, so he lets it go with a sigh. Once his shoulders slump, Washington nods in approval. 

"You're such shitheads," Dolley mutters to them.

"I don't think either of us will deny that," John says.

Before she can fire something else back at them--and Alex knows Dolley well enough to know she's already got the perfect cutting remark on the tip of her tongue--Martha appears in the entry to the living room with Patsy and Laf.

"Okay, folks," she says. "DInner!"

There's nearly a stampede as all seventeen people in the room turn on their heels to squeeze into the dining room. Dolley grabs Madison by the elbow and pulls him with her. Alex just shakes his head. He hasn't moved yet--it's not like there aren't name placards on the table, handwritten by Laf in different colored marker--and John remains at his elbow.

"Madison," Alex mutters, shaking his head.

"I know," John sighs. "Oh, wait." 

Alex glances over at him. John presents Alex's phone with a flourish. Right, Alex had handed it to Trumbull back when he was bragging about John's photography skills.

"I'm surprised you left something full of my dick pics in Trumbull's possession for as long as you did, honestly," John says, laying the phone on Alex's open hand. 

"I'm actually more concerned about all the pictures of you sleeping in weird places." Alex shoves the phone back in his pocket. "Dick pics are dick pics. Your catnap pictures are _adorable_."

John elbows him and glances down to hide his grin. "Shut up. Let's go eat."

Alex hooks John's pinky with his own. "Let's."

Fitting twenty people in the dining room is a tight squeeze. There's a folding table pulled up to the edge of the dining room table that extends out into the hallway. Since John and Alex are the last ones, they need to squeeze past nearly everyone to get to their seats by the head of the table. 

Once they're settled, Washington taps his glass with a spoon to get everyone to quiet down. "Welcome, and Happy Thanksgiving," he says. "When Martha suggested we start hosting these dinners five years ago, I thought she was crazy. In the time since, I can honestly say it's become one of my favorite traditions. It's always wonderful to see you all outside of work and school, and I feel good knowing we can share this meal with you at a time of year when no one should be alone. Some of you are family and some of you are coworkers and some of you are students and some of you are strangers. We endeavor to make this a meal where all are welcome."

Alex feels a little shitty for calling Madison out before. Not much, but...a little.

"Now, for those of you who are new, one of our traditions is to go around the table so everyone can share a few things they're grateful for this year. To start, I'm incredibly thankful for my health, for Martha's health, and for our family's health and prosperity. I'm grateful to have found all four of the young men currently working in my lab--I know you'll all do great things and I'm proud to be a part of that journey. I'm thankful that Patsy can be here with us this year and that Gilbert has come home to us." 

Laf looks like he might burst into happy tears. Washington sits down and nods at Laf, as he's sitting in the next seat over. 

Laf wipes at his eyes and beams at the Washingtons. "I'm thankful for George and Martha opening their home up to me all those years ago. And I am thankful for all the opportunities it has afforded me since, from an excellent education to the best friendships of my life." He turns the beaming smile on Alex and John and raises his glass to them.

"Thanks, man," Alex says.

"You're very sweet, Gilbert," Martha says. Then she looks at John, smiles, and nods.

"Uh," John says. He glances at the Washingtons and then Laf and then Alex and then to his plate. "Um. I guess...I guess I'm thankful for my independence. Um, for being able to be myself. I'm thankful to the Washingtons for being so supportive. And Hercules for being a solid friend and Lafayette for giving me a place to live and a person to rely on." 

Everyone is still looking at John, probably expecting the thing that Alex is expecting.

"And, uh, you, I guess," John adds, glancing at Alex again.

"Me you _guess_?" Alex says. 

There are chuckles around the table. 

John's ears are red. "Shut up, you know what I mean," he mutters.

"Yeah, well, I'm thankful for you too, _I guess_ ," Alex says. He elbows John. "Asshole." More chuckles. "Um, but seriously, I love you. And I'm thankful to the Washingtons for having me for my first, you know, American Thanksgiving or whatever. Laf, for letting me stay after John invited me over, Herc for always knowing what to say, Dr. Washington for seeing potential in me, and, uh, I guess the people who read my blog and have supported it for the past, um, while."

Alex doesn't think about things like gratitude often, but maybe he should. He finds he suddenly wants to highlight all of the people who have gotten him here, all of the things that make his life in Morristown so much better than it ever was before. Hell, he didn't even thank Mr. Stevens, who basically saved his future, or Ned, who all but got him into Columbia after the clusterfuck with Princeton. There are fifteen other people who need to give their thanks before everyone can eat, though, so he manages to close his mouth and let Burr give his thanks. 

Next to him, John reaches out and takes his hand under the table.

"I love you too," he murmurs, quiet enough not to distract from Burr.

"I know," Alex assures him. "Don't worry about it."

The thanks loops its way around the table, through Patsy and then Mrs. W and then back to Washington, who clears his throat and raises his glass.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he says. "Let's eat."

There's an immediate cacophony of silverware and plates and talking and laughter. Alex lets go of John's hand and they both begin to eat along with everyone else. 

Every single thing that Alex puts into his mouth is delicious. He's not usually picky about food anyway, but everyone definitely brought their a-game. Turkey isn't something he would ever pick out for himself as a meal, but Mrs. Washington's turkey is wonderful and the sides are equally amazing. He has three servings of Dolley's weird cranberry sauce and would probably go back for more if it weren't at the other end of the table. It seems like a waste to have them pass it back when there are a dozen other dishes within reach that are equally good despite the weird ingredients.

He eats so much that he doesn't want to get up from the table, which he's heard is another Thanksgiving tradition. It doesn't help that Lafayette has bottle after bottle of wine and he's happy to top off Alex's glass. Alex sips it steadily through dinner and then after. He ends up sideways in his chair with his legs thrown over John's lap as von Steuben regales them all with an explanation of some German holiday that involves a lot of food and even more beer. With his free hand, he gently winds one of John's curls around one finger, then unwinds it, then winds it again. He barely notices he's doing it until John takes his wrist and pulls it away. He presses a kiss to Alex's palm and then slides out from underneath him, quietly leaving the table.

Alex assumes he's left for the bathroom or something, but von Steuben's story ends and John's still not back, and Laf gets up to get another bottle of wine and John's still not back, and people are leaving the table to congregate in the living room and John is...still not back.

"I think he's on the porch, Alex," Mrs. Washington says to him when she sees him craning his neck to look around the room. 

"It's fucking freezing out there," Alex says before he can stop himself. "Uh, pardon my language."

"It's a holiday, so I'll let it slide," she says. "You know where the blankets are."

"Right," he says. He does. He knows where the Washingtons keep their blankets. That's...probably weird, but he'll examine it later.

He excuses himself from the table, despite the raging debate over changes to federal regulations on residual hauntings. Blanket retrieved, he goes out to the back porch. True to Mrs. Washington's word, John is sitting on the steps and staring out at the dark yard. Nelson lies next to him with his head in John's lap. John is, of course, not wearing his fucking coat.

Alex crosses the porch, making sure to shift his weight enough that the boards creak and John can hear him coming. John doesn't turn around, though--Nelson lifts his head, sniffs in Alex's direction, and then puts it back down, but John doesn't move. Alex eventually sits on the step next to him.

"Hey," he says, hugging the blanket to his chest. Shit, he should have brought his own coat. It's cold as balls.

"Hi," John says. 

They sit in silence for a moment. Alex hates silence.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you before," John says, just as Alex is about to start a conversation about the fucking weather. "When we were going around the table, I mean."

"You didn't embarrass me, I thought it was funny," Alex says truthfully. "I know you love me, John. I don't need you to, like, performatively fall at my feet in front of the Washingtons' dinner guests."

"No, I know," John says. "But still."

"Don't worry about it," Alex assures him. "I'm not upset about that. I'm not upset at all. I'm just...making sure you're okay. I can go back inside if you just need space."

"No," John says. He reaches out and curls his hand around Alex's knee. "Stay?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "Yeah, of course. Always."

It really is fucking cold, though, at least for Alex's Caribbean sensibilities. He unfurls the blanket and then drapes it over their shoulders like a cape, shifting closer until he's pressed up against John's side. John nestles up against him and rests his head on Alex's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks. 

"Yeah," John says. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm--really cold, actually, so thanks for the blanket."

"No problem," Alex says. "It would be warmer inside, probably?"

"It would be _louder_ inside, probably," John says.

"Ah."

Nelson snuffles on John's other side and nuzzles against his hand. Alex can almost see the appeal of having a dog, watching Nelson so sweetly attempt to show John affection. Of course, it's possible, if not probable, that it's the John component rather than the dog component tugging at Alex's heartstrings.

"I'm just thinking," John says. "I'm thinking about...this is the first real Thanksgiving without my mom. I mean, after she died, we still like, _technically_ had Thanksgiving, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't warm and fun and happy like it was when Mom did it, it was just as sterile and ornamental as most of the other holidays we did with my dad's family. And then I didn't come home for a lot of years--so yeah, this is the first real Thanksgiving without my mom and I made her sweet potato casserole and I spent it with you and Laf and the Washingtons and everything was pretty great. So that's...a lot of feelings to work through, you know?"

"Sounds like it," Alex says. Given John's usual aversion to feelings, Alex imagines he'll need some time to unpack all of them. "But you're not...sad, right?"

"No, not sad," John promises him. "Just trying to think. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. When I said stay--I just meant you didn't have to go."

"I rather be with you than basically anywhere else, so." 

"Sap," John says, not unkindly. "You really think you can keep your mouth closed for more than a minute or two? When you're awake and there's not a dick in it?"

Alex nearly chokes on his laughter. "Does it really count as being closed if there's a dick in it, though?" He knocks his head against John's. "I mean, technically, it's open in order to fit the dick inside. It's closed _around_ the dick, but the mouth itself--"

"Oh my god, you couldn't even go ten seconds." John elbows him. "You're the worst."

"You started it!" Alex says, elbowing him back. "And you presented an interesting question and--"

"Oh my god," John says again. The elbowing turns into half-hearted wrestling and ends with Alex kneeling on the step below John with John's knees locked against Alex's ribs. Alex laughs, breathless, and moves to pull the blanket back around them.

"Jesus, you're freezing," he murmurs when his fingers brush by John's cheek.

"Yeah, well," John says. He smiles slowly, eyes suddenly heavy-lidded. "Warm me up."

"You have the _worst_ lines, Laurens, I swear to--"

John kisses him, and his hands are as cold as his cheek was, so cold that he flinches when Alex covers one with his own where it's pressed against the side of Alex's throat. Alex tries to use the other hand to pull the blanket more tightly around them, even as he parts John's lips and nips at the bottom one.

Unfortunately, before they can get much further, Nelson jumps up and starts trying to wiggle his way into the blanket and between their bodies. Alex and John pull apart, John laughing half at the dog and half at the put-out expression on Alex's face.

"Nelson wins," Alex says. "I'm freezing and I'm going inside. Are you gonna sit out here and think a little longer?"

"Nah," John says. "I can think inside where it's warm." He stands up and stretches and pats his thigh. Nelson jumps up and paws at him, barking cheerfully and knocking his head against John's hand. "Is that right, buddy? Do you wanna go inside where it's warm?"

"Why do you always have to talk to them in a baby voice?" Alex wrinkles his nose.

"Why do you always have to remind me that you're a sociopath that hates animals?" John asks, scrunching up _his_ nose. He crouches down closer to Nelson again. "He's crazy, right buddy? How could he not love you? How could he not love your furry little face?" 

Nelson barks happily and rubs up against John, licking his face and nuzzling him. 

Alex rolls his eyes. "I see how it is," he says, addressing the dog. "You get to lick his face, but when I try, you won't leave us alone."

"He's just trying to love me. And I'd hope you weren't trying to _lick my face_ ," John says, and Alexander's lightning-fast mind snaps to work for his second favorite reason after parapsych work: being a shithead.

John's only a step behind him, though. He glances at Alex and his eyes go wide.

"Oh no," he says, and darts out of the way before Alex can grab him.

"Come back!" Alex says amid laughter, "I'm just trying to love you!" 

John ducks and skids across the porch out of Alex's way. Excited by the action, Nelson chases after Alex as he chases after John, all three of them darting back and forth on the porch.

"You're such an asshole!" John shouts. "And a child!" But he's laughing and his cheeks are flushed in the porch light and given the fact that John goes for a run every night and Alex gets winded when he has to take the stairs, Alex concludes that John's probably not as keen to get away as he's pretending.

Alex lunges for John, but he manages to duck under Alex's arms and open the porch door, stumbling into the house. Nelson is on his heels, barking happily, but he's a little _too_ close. He darts in front of John, forcing him to slow just long enough for Alex to follow them inside, pull the door shut, and wrap his arms around John.

"Don't be a shithead!" John says, but Alex goes ahead and licks the side of John's face anyway. "Ugh, that's _gross_ , you're _gross_ , you asshole!"

"It's gross when I do it but it's okay when the dog does it?" Alex asks. "Where's the logic to that? He's a _dog_ , who knows where his tongue has been? The only two places my tongue has been recently are in my mouth and in your mouth."

John squirms free and wipes his cheek. "I'm going to wash my face."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex says. John shoves past him to go back to the bathroom, but he lets their fingers catch for just a moment as he passes, squeezing Alex's hand. Alex has to fight a goofy smile as he watches him go.

"Is there--oh."

James Madison stands in the doorway from the living room, looking as sweaty and twitchy as he did the day that Alex met him. Alex isn't sure how to proceed. He probably shouldn't yell at him--Washington asked him not to, and it's Thanksgiving or whatever. Plus, it's not like he's actually done anything wrong, aside from his general existence and belief system.

"Do you need something?" Alex finally asks when they've been staring at each other for a few seconds.

"I was just...wondering where the bathroom is?" Madison wrings his hands, his gaze darting around the room.

"It's down that hall. But John's in there right now."

"Oh." 

Damn, but Alex hates an awkward silence.

"Listen," he says, tugging on the end of his own ponytail, "I just--I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" Madison asks slowly, with no small amount of suspicion.

"You, man," Alex says. "You're smart! And we had a good time that first time we hung out and Dolley seems to like you, but then you dismiss an entire field of science and you're a jerk about our queerness and I don't know, man. I don't get it."

"I don't have a problem with you being, um, gay," Madison says after a moment of staring silently at Alex. 

"I'm not, I'm bi," Alex snaps, but it sounds petty even to his ears.

"You and Laurens," Madison elaborates. "That doesn't bother me. That's just...that's Thomas."

"Bro, sitting there while your buddy makes shitty comments about queer people makes you pretty complicit in his homophobia."

"Not everything has to be about work and politics," Madison continues. "That first afternoon--that wasn't about politics. But every time we see you, you're just as quick to shout your piece as Thomas is."

"He _starts it_ ," Alex says through clenched teeth. Jefferson and his sneering smile and his annoying, shitty laugh and the way he looks down on them like they're trash.

"I know," Madison says. "And I'm--I'm trying to get him to leave you alone. If you're not bothering me, I don't want to bother you, regardless of what you believe."

"It's not a belief, it's a fact!"

"I disagree. There's not enough tangible--look, forget that."

"I can't forget it! It's my life's work!"

"Well, maybe you should focus on making other things more important in your life so you can have a single conversation with someone who doesn't have exactly the same worldview as you!"

Alex stands stock still. For all he's fought with Jefferson constantly since they met in September, he doesn't think he's ever heard Madison raise his voice. He's definitely never heard his words so sharp and resolute. 

"I'm sorry," Madison says, his posture suddenly less rigid. "I just mean--I can talk to Dolley just fine without discussing parapsychology. I've talked to everyone here tonight just fine without talking about it. I'm sorry Thomas feels the need to attack you every time he sees you, but you're hardly better."

Before Alex can formulate a reply--because, jesus, where could he even start?--John emerges from the hallway, wiping his hands on his pants. He freezes when he sees Madison.

"I'm next," Madison says. "Unless--Hamilton, were you in line?"

"No," Alex says faintly.

"Alright, then." He walks past Alex, but pauses and turns around at the front of the hall. "You're smart, Hamilton, and you're funny. There are things about you that are worth more than your job."

And then he's gone.

John stares at Alex like he's just denounced parapsychology all together. "What the hell was that?"

"I...I'm not sure," Alex admits. "I'll tell you about it at home, okay?"

"Sure." John eyes the hallway. "I don't have to beat anyone up for you, do I?"

"No, it's fine. And I don't need anyone to beat people up for me, I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself," Alex says, snapping out of his daze.

"Oh, baby, it's so cute that you think that." John grabs Alex's hand and tugs him back towards the living room. "Let's go get another drink before dessert."

"There's _more food_?" Alex asks. Madison and his observations slip out of Alex's mind in his shock.

"Babe, we've barely started." They follow the hum of voices and laughter behind the doors to the living room.

***

If Alex thought he was full after dinner, it has nothing on how he feels after dessert. Cookies, pies, brownies, fruit salad, apple bars...there might actually be something to the American tradition of spending an entire day doing nothing but eating.

About half the guests have gone home--von Steuben and Ben Walker are still around, sitting close enough on the couch that Alex can't help but raise an eyebrow. Patsy and her maybe!girlfriend are still there, of course, and Laf and Alex and John. Trumbull is still around and so is a second year in von Steuben's lab named Jamika McHenry. And in a corner, nursing a drink by himself, is Burr.

When Alex takes a moment to think about it, he realizes that Burr's been mostly on his own all night. He's floated from group to group, as far as Alex saw, but never really seemed to get into the conversation the way the rest of everyone did. Even Madison spoke more than Burr, finding a shared love of the Classics with Patsy and Olivia. 

But Burr just drifted. Laughed and smiled when he needed to, but never seemed to connect.

Weird.

Alex excuses himself from the couch, pushing himself up from where he's sprawled over John's lap, and hopping to his feet. Blue, Washington's other dog, immediately jumps up and settles on John's lap in his place, which means that Alex has probably lost his spot for the rest of the night. He makes his way over to Burr, who raises his eyebrows as Alex gets closer. 

"Hey, Happy Thanksgiving," Alex says to him.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Hamilton," Burr says. Burr is maybe the only person at the university aside from Washington, John, and Laf who doesn't call him 'Ham.' Alex dismisses that petty annoyance--it's a stupid thing to get hung up on, especially because he had mixed feelings about everyone calling him 'Ham' in the first place--and leans against the wall next to Burr.

"Thanksgiving is fucking weird, huh?" he says.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Burr says. 

Alex scrutinizes his face for a moment, looking for any hint as to what he's thinking.

Nope. Nothing. Dude is cagey as hell.

"I just mean, the whole holiday," Alex says. "Like, 'let's give the whole nation a day off from work in memory of an event that probably didn't even happen and was likely just a blip of peace before we started a genocide, but all we do is eat all day and remember how I said we all get the day off--I wasn't including service workers in that.'"

Burr hums noncommittally and Alex sighs and goes back to observing the room. John is all but asleep his chin drooping forward towards his chest as von Steuben talks. Ben Walker is actually asleep, with his head on von Steuben's shoulder, and Alex is _intensely curious_ about that whole...situation. He doesn't think he's ever seen Laf look happier, though, surrounded by the Washingtons and Patsy and Olivia, talking and laughing and letting Mrs. W fuss over him. He's happy Laf found a family. Hell, he's happy _he's_ found a family, or at least the start of one. Even if he _does_ talk to Washington's dogs in a baby voice.

"I mean," Alex murmurs, "I guess I kind of get it. I kind of--it's nice spending time with people. Meeting people. Connecting. Taking time out for all of it, you know?"

Again, Burr just hums noncommittally. Unbelievable.

"Bro," Alex says. He raises his eyebrows at Burr, who gives him the same calm, neutral look. "You're allowed to like--have an opinion on this. You're allowed to disagree. My boyfriend learned how to make a fucking casserole, he loves this dumb holiday so much. I don't care if you think it's great. I don't care if you think it's bizarre. But you have to think _something_ about it. Right?"

Burr sighs and rubs his forehead. He looks, for a moment, lost and exhausted, but just as quickly that fades into the vaguely condescending expression that seems to be his default around Alex.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Hamilton," he says.

Alex rubs his face with his hand. "I don't know what I want you to say either, honestly. I came over because you were all by yourself. Come on, join the party. Don't be the creep spying on everyone from the corner." He reaches out and tugs Burr's sleeve just once. Burr rolls his eyes and sighs again, but when Alex pushes off of the wall and heads back over towards John and the others, he follows.

Well, that's something.

"Hey, get off," Alex mutters to Blue, shoving at the small dog ineffectually until John sleepily nudges him back to the floor. 

"Looking to sit on my lap?" John asks. He waggles his eyebrows and it's ridiculous and Alex loves his stupid face.

"Your lines are _so_ bad, babe." Alex bites back a smile. He sits back down next to John, Burr slowly sitting in an open chair across from them, next to McHenry and Trumbull. 

John sighs happily and tips his weight over towards Alex, curling up against him. "I love you so much." He burrows closer and wraps his arms more tightly around Alex.

"Okay, that one's pretty good." 

"Burr, you're a chemist," Jamika asks. "What the hell is up with that article that Rush put out last week? I've got my eye on an internship with him this summer, but now I'm nervous he's losing it and these techheads are no help."

"I've read some theories," Burr says. 

And Alex doesn't care what Burr's saying--honestly, chemistry starts to bore him after a minute or two--but at least he's saying _something_. Alex may not know much about Thanksgiving, but he knows you're not supposed to spend it sitting by yourself while everyone else makes friends. He even feels pretty good about it, getting Burr to engage, even if he hasn't managed to trick him into revealing a single real opinion. 

"Maybe I'm not so bad at this Thanksgiving thing after all," he murmurs to himself.

"What was that?" John asks, glancing up and blinking slowly at Alex. He stifles a yawn.

"Nothing, just being self-congratulatory," Alex says.

"When are you not?"

"Fair point." Alex hides his smile, pressing his face into John's hair. "Did you have a good Thanksgiving?"

"Better than I hoped." John shifts and looks up at Alex. His smile is sleepy and satisfied. "How about you? How was your first Thanksgiving?"

"Not bad," Alex admits. "Although, any enjoyment I took out of tonight doesn't mean the holiday isn't a capitalist, jingoistic--"

"Shut up."

And--because it's Thanksgiving, because he's a good boyfriend--Alex smiles and does so.

* * *

Alex is already out of the car by the time John cuts the engine and gets out himself, and he wastes no time in pressing John against the side of the car and kissing him again, fast and rough and sloppy. He pins John to the car with his hips, and his mind whites out for a split second when John presses back, grinding them together. He gasps, his breath stuttering in his lungs, just as John shoves him off and towards the door to the building.

"I'm not fucking you in the parking lot," John pants, and gives Alex another shove towards the building. "There's a couch right there."

They stumble up the sidewalk and through the doors. Alex feels drunk, almost, high off the endorphins of such a fucking excellent victory, over doing his job right, working so in sync with John, finishing each other's thoughts, sentences, actions, banishing a spirit with half a plan and no discussion outside of the conversation they had with their eyes. Every time they do this, every time they get it this right, the euphoria almost drives Alex out of his mind. He's never felt this kind of connection to a person before. It's addictive.

They crash through the hallway like something out of a pinball machine, bouncing off the walls, tripping over each other's feet. Alex gets his hands under John's shirt. John gasps and bites his lip and fights with Alex's belt. The sliver of Alex's brain not focused on John's thigh grinding between his legs and the taste of John's mouth has a feeling that this is going to be a night where they don't see their bed, one where they don't even make it to the couch the first time. He's okay with that--he's okay with anything that gets his hand on John's cock in the next two minutes.

He hits the door to the lab with his back and fumbles for the keycard in his pocket, and then they stumble inside, John already shoving Alex's jacket off, Alex trying to unbutton John's jeans and not trip over the pants that are sliding down his hips without a belt. Maybe they will make it to the couch--John hits the door to Washington's office with his back, pulling Alex after him, but there's a lab table right there and he swings around and starts to urge Alex up onto it, knocking books to the floor, and then--

"What the--Hamilton! Laurens!"

They freeze. Alex is teetering on the edge of the table and John's hands are definitely under his shirt, but neither of them moves. Maybe, if they don't look over towards the desk, this won't actually be happening.

"What the hell are you doing?" Washington snaps.

Or not.

Alex lets go of John's fly and tries to redo his own belt as subtly as possible. John clears his throat and lets go of Alex's hips.

"Uh," Alex says. He and John look at each other. He tries not to get distracted by how appealing John's blush looks under his freckles, with his mess of curls half in his face.

"What are you doing here?" John asks.

"It's _my_ office!" Washington shouts, and Alex gives in and glances over at him.

Washington is sitting at his desk. Burr is sitting on the other side of it. Because of course he is.

Boner killer. This is a definite boner killer.

"It's...late," Alex says lamely. 

Burr somehow manages to look both shocked and exasperated. Washington mostly looks like he wants to bang his head against his desk.

"Again," Washington says, " _It's my office_."

"We were, uh, working?" John says. "We finished that case in Boonton? It went really well."

"So it seems," Washington says. Alex thinks he might be trying to murder the two of them with his eyes.

"Adrenaline," Alex sputters. "It went really well. We were really...synchronous." 

"And you couldn't be synchronous in your own apartment because...?"

"This was closer." Alex clears his throat. "Uh, sorry? We didn't think anyone would be here. Usually no one is."

" _Usually_?" 

Alex winces. He needs to learn when to stop talking.

"Uh," John says. "We can...go, we should go. Right? We should go."

"You should go," Washington agrees darkly. 

John takes a step back, allowing Alex to drop back down to his feet. He finishes buckling his belt as quickly as he can, and John bends over to pick up the books they knocked over, which is distracting because John's ass is _right there_ \--

"Leave the books!" Washington snaps. "Just _go home_!"

"Right." John straightens up. He takes a step backwards, his eyes still wide and focused on Washington, and steps right into Alex, who catches him but almost trips in his haste to find the door. He misses it the first time, walking straight into the wall. Alex fumbles for the doorknob, which is extra difficult with John standing behind him, pushing him to move faster. 

They somehow make it out into the hallway again without falling over each other or their own feet.

"And I can't believe I even have to say this, but no more sex in the lab!" Washington bellows after them. 

They both flinch and then chorus back, "Yes, sir!"

John pulls the door to the lab closed and they stand in the hallway, disheveled and flushed, staring at each other with wide eyes.

"I feel like I should be more embarrassed," John finally says. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm mortified, but mostly...."

"...our apartment is far away," Alex concludes.

"Yeah," John says. They keep staring at each other.

"Your car--"

"Nope."

"Stairwell it is," Alex says. 

Later, when they stumble back out to John's car, drunk on endorphins and rumpled, they almost run into Burr in the parking lot. He's headed back to his own car, his arms full of books, and he stops to sneer at them. Alex thinks John's shirt might be on inside out.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Burr says. "And before you get self-righteous, I don't care who you fuck so much as I care where you fuck."

"Relax for five minutes and fucking enjoy yourself, why don't you?" John asks. "You never would have known if you weren't there when we busted in."

"Do you really have that little self-control?"

"It's not about self-control," Alex says. "It's about not wasting time. Haven't you ever been so crazy about someone that you can't wait to touch them? That you can't think about anything else?" 

"If you haven't," John adds, "I actually feel kind of bad for you."

Burr bristles, but doesn't say anything further. 

As they walk to the car, Alex thinks about John's parting shot. He does feel bad for Burr. Because Alex spent the past twenty-one years of his life spurning other people in favor of facts and words and work, and it's only now that he realizes how lonely he was. It's only now that he realizes how much his heart and mind and work have blossomed in the warm glow of human connection. Romance aside--though, hey, as it turns out, being in love is pretty great and gives him a huge kick of energy and inspiration--just having people he cares about, people he can rely on has opened his mind. He's better and faster when he's bouncing ideas off of John and Lafayette. He gets twice as much done when he loves and trusts people enough to receive their advice and input.

He's not exactly ready to make Burr his best friend or anything, but he hopes that Burr isn't lonely.

When they get to the car and John stops to dig for his keys, Alex tilts his chin up and kisses him. John makes a soft, amused noise, and then grins crookedly when Alex pulls away.

"I love you," Alex says. 

"I know," John says. "I'm glad. I love you, too."

John kisses him again--an absent, distracted press of lips as he finally pulls out his keys and then unlocks the door. Alex moves around to the passenger side, and glances back at Burr as he goes. Burr's dumping his pile of books into the passenger seat of his car, with less care than he would have predicted, knowing how meticulous Burr's desk is. Alex wonders, absently, if Burr's car is secretly a dump. He's never seen the inside of it. Hell, he's never even seen someone else inside of it. He's never seen Burr show up for a party or at the bar or at the school with anyone tagging along. 

Huh.

***

That night, Burr keeps wandering back into Alex's thoughts. Burr's always been kind of weird about John--about Alex and John, specifically--and Alex has always brushed it off as the result of their first meeting. Alex wasn't in their orientation group and doesn't know exactly what happened, but he does know that they spoke, that John hit on Burr, that Burr brushed him off, and that, by the end of it, Burr had outed himself as a fence-sitter. Alex loves John, but he's also more than aware of his flaws; it wouldn't be out of character for John to have said or done something provocative enough to foster the animosity that exists between them.

But that animosity really does seem more directed at John-and-Alex as a unit than just John or even John-and-Alex-and-Lafayette. Alex is relatively positive that Burr's straight, so the only conclusion that Alex can draw is that Burr _is_ lonely. And he feels a little bit guilty about that. Burr was the first person Alex met at Morristown, probably the first real friend he had in America, if he's being honest with himself. He doesn't feel about Burr the way he does Lafayette and Mulligan; they never connected in that way. But that doesn't mean he doesn't feel _something_. They work together. They have classes together. They see each other around campus and at events. And, sure, sometimes he sees Burr hanging out with James Madison and Dolley Payne and even some asshole fifth year in Greene's lab, Charles Lee, but he gets the impression Burr isn't really _friends_ with any of them. He gets the impression that the closest thing that Burr has to friends is...them. Alex and John and Lafayette and even Mulligan. 

And, jesus, that's kind of sad.

He makes a series of decisions that night and into the morning. They're the sort of decisions that he should really run by the others first but...well, he's impatient. And slightly afraid that he'll change his mind if he doesn't pounce on them immediately. He plans out a speech in his head and plans to hunt Burr down on campus as soon as he gets a chance.

As it turns out, he doesn't even have to do the hunting. At around ten-thirty, Burr slips into the otherwise empty lab. Alex sees him from Washington's office, where he's working on the couch while John sleeps on his lap. He throws a pen at the window in the office door to get Burr's attention as he walks by. Burr raises his eyebrows, but course corrects and turns into the office. It takes Alex a moment to process the look of shocked horror on Burr's face when he opens the door.

"Are you fucking serious? Is this revenge for last night?" Burr asks, his voice far too loud.

Alex hisses a _ssssh!_ at him, but then he tries to put himself in Burr's shoes, seeing Alex through the window on top of the door and then opening it to find John passed out with his face in Alex's lap and his hair everywhere...okay. Alex gets how it looks bad.

"He's asleep," Alex murmurs, and gestures for Burr to come further into the room and close the door. "He needs the sleep, so be quiet. He had a library shift from six to ten and we didn't get home until almost one." He glances down at John, not that he can see much beyond the splay of hair that Alex is idly stroking. His breathing is still even, though, and his body is still. "I fucking hate that library job. I wish he would just quit." He's had that fight already, though Alex hasn't forgotten John's promise. They're only a few weeks away from the end of the semester and they're _going_ to have that conversation about John overworking. 

But that's for another day. He's concerned about Burr today. He'll worry about John later.

"Are you using Laurens as a table?" Burr asks once he's recovered from his misplaced outrage, looking pointedly at where Alex's tablet is resting on John's back.

"Yeah." Alex shrugs. "I wanted to make sure he slept, but I have shit to do."

"Okay," Burr says. "Is there a reason you wanted me to watch you watch Laurens sleep?"

"I just wanted to--so, you know that we--me and John and Lafayette and Mulligan--we freelance."

Burr nods.

"So, I just thought--if you wanted more field work? Or you wanted to, I don't know, help out--an extra pair of hands is always good. Especially on nights that Mulligan can't meet us or Lafayette has a night class or whatever." 

Burr's expression doesn't change. He doesn't say anything, either. 

"Just--you're really good at some of the shit that we're less good at. Mulligan's a tech whiz and Lafayette is great with sound and John's a genius with a camera and photos, but you're really into dating and chemistry and shit like that and...we could always use a hand with it."

"I don't need a pity job," Burr says, his face still guarded.

"It's not a fucking pity job" Alex rolls his eyes "I don't give fucking pity jobs. You'll do the shit none of the rest of us want to do which, coincidentally, is the shit you're good at. There's no schedule, no set hours--you come when you want to."

"I'm not sure where this is coming from." Burr still looks ready to run, or maybe ready to attack. Has Alex really been so confrontational over the past few months that Burr thinks this is a set-up?

"It's coming from...there are only four of us in the lab and we don't really know you that well," Alex says. "And we're gonna be spending the next five years together and I wanna get to know you. You're smart and you have all these useful skills and it seems stupid to be strangers when you could be simultaneously helping us out and letting us get to know you." Burr doesn't say anything, so Alex continues. "I see the way you look at me and John. And since I'm pretty sure you're straight, I can only figure that it's because you don't have a lot of people around here. You know, I'm sure it feels shitty to be the odd one out. You don't have to be."

Burr is quiet, but after a moment, he steps forward and grabs Washington's chair, pulling it out and twirling it around to face Alex before he sits in it.

"I look at you and Laurens like that because when we first started here, I thought you were making a mistake," Burr says. "Although we were starting the same program, I suppose I saw myself as older and wiser. You seemed very...young." 

Alex bristles at that. A million scathing remarks twist through his mind, a million cutting digs, but he somehow holds them all back. He kind of wishes his fucking friends were around to see how measured and considerate he can be with the right motivation. 

"In my mind, you were making all the wrong choices, getting yourself caught up in Laurens' reckless, argumentative crusade, breaking rules, stepping out of line, moving in with someone after sleeping with them once...it was all destined to blow up in your face." Burr pauses to allow for a self-deprecating half-smile and shrug. "Imagine my surprise when it...hasn't. Not so far, at least. So, now I look at you that way because I can't believe you can take and take and take and not lose it all. I'm envious, I suppose."

This is probably the most Burr has ever said to him at once. This is definitely the most personal thing Burr has ever said to him. The earlier desire to say something cutting dissolves into something not unlike pity. Abruptly, he wishes John were awake. He's not sure what he's craving right now--it might be a hand to hold. He settles for gently scratching his fingers against John's scalp and curling his hand around the curve of John's skull, fingers buried in his curls. John twitches at the movement and makes an incredibly unflattering noise somewhere between a snore and a sneeze.

"Well," Alex says after a weighty silence, "it's definitely love, because I'm pretty sure he just wiped his nose on my only clean pair of pants and I mostly think it's endearing." He offers Burr a half-smile, which Burr almost, but not quite, returns. "Look, I get that it seems crazy. It felt crazy at the time--we knew it was a shitty idea, but what the hell, right? But I'm not saying you should go out and fuck someone and then move in with them. I'm not even saying you should go out and fuck someone--although, it would probably make you--"

" _Hamilton._ "

"Right. What I'm saying is...you're not gonna get anything if you keep standing on the sidelines. You say I keep taking, right? Well, there it is--one good thing my shitty childhood taught me is that if you wait for things to come to you, you don't get shit. You need to go for it. Don't be so cagey, don't be so measured. Fucking do the things you want to do. Ask for things. Get out there. Good or bad, at least you're in it. Otherwise, you're just letting it all pass you by."

Burr is quiet again. His gaze is a little unnerving, piercing as it is.

"So," Alex blusters onward, never one to let a silence stretch out longer than it has to, "come with us or don't come with us, but I think you should. We're almost done with one semester--we've got like, nine more to go and you might as well get used to working with us."

"I'll let you know," Burr finally says. He gets up slowly. "Thanks, Hamilton."

"You're welcome," Alex says. 

John sniffles and twitches again, shifting around on Alex's lap. He rubs his back soothingly. "Go back to sleep, dumbass, you've got another couple hours before class."

"Fuck off," John mumbles. "I shouldn't be sleeping." The words are all garbled together as John weakly tries to push himself up.

"You're caught up on work, on grading, on your paper--what the fuck else do you need to be awake for?"

When Alex looks up again, Burr is standing by the door, looking back at them. Alex raises his hand in a half wave, then ducks away as John abruptly sits up, barely avoiding getting beaned in the chin by the back of John's head. When he looks at the doorway again, Burr is gone.

Whatever. There are more pressing matters to deal with now.

"You wiped your nose on my pants," he tells John. "And drooled all over me."

John settles next to him on the couch, most of his weight still leaning against Alex's side. There's a mark on his face from where his cheek was pressed against a crease in Alex's jeans. "That's what happens when you insist I don't need a pillow, that I should just use you as a pillow, because that's romantic or some shit."

Alex considers protesting that he insisted on being a human pillow to make sure that John didn't sneak off to get a nineteenth job, but he can already tell that's a battle he'll lose. Instead, he reaches out to smooth his thumb across the crease on John's cheek and take in his sleepy eyes and mess of hair. 

"Your hair's a riot," he says.

"You always say that as if it's a personal failing of mine and not a direct result of you messing with it," John says. He yawns and rubs his eyes. "Is that your coffee?"

Without a word, Alex picks up the mug from the filing cabinet next to him and passes it over to John. John makes a quiet, happy sound and Alex looks down at his tablet, tapping around idly as he tries to figure out the best way to break the news of his friendship overtures to John, who likes Burr about as much as Burr likes him.

"So," Alex says eventually, when divine inspiration fails to strike. "I did a thing while you were asleep."

John snorts. "Uh-oh."

"I just, um." John raises an eyebrow, which is _unfair_ , given he knows how that drives Alex crazy. "I offered Burr a job. With us."

Alex holds his breath and watches as the words filter through John's sleep-soft brain. There's a frown of confusion, dawning shock, and then--

"What the hell?!" John snaps. "You can't just do that without consulting us! Also, it's fucking Burr--why the fuck would you do that?" John glares at him across the top of his own fucking coffee mug. 

"Well, number one," Alex says, ticking off his points as he goes, "we definitely need a chemist on the team. Number two, Burr's a great chemist and local and we know what his work style is like already. Three, I think he's like...lonely. And we have to work with him for the next five years and we haven't been really...welcoming."

John scrunches up his nose. He's actually pouting, which should be stupid and immature, but it's John and Alex has it bad. "Your face isn't welcoming."

Alex chokes back a laugh "You're an asshole when you first wake up."

"I'm always an asshole, baby," John assures him, then sighs and puts Alex's coffee down on the table. He rubs his face with both of his hands. "Okay, okay, let me--let me think about this for a second."

That's a good sign, but Alex presses on anyway. "I'm not saying we need to become best friends with the guy, but we're spending the rest of our time here with him and everything will be easier if we can at least get along. He's kind of a condescending prick, but he's smart and he's good at his job and there are only four of us and three of us live together and two of us are dating." He says it all in a rush. John remains unimpressed. "He's an asshole but...for better or worse, he's ours, right?"

John flops back against the couch and tips his head back to look at the ceiling. Alex holds his breath--he's pretty sure this means he's won.

"I'll think about it," John grumbles. "And, please--let's not phrase it that way again. That's our thing and now I'm stuck thinking about you dating Burr. Which, as visually appealing as it might be--"

"Stop, stop!" Alex tries to swallow his horrified laugh. "Ugh, let's not go there. But--yeah, I just want you to think about it. He hasn't said he'd join up or anything yet anyway, I just...left the door open for him to come along if he wants, when he wants."

"Yeah, yeah." John rolls his eyes hard enough Alex is surprised he doesn't sprain something. John is cute and kind and thoughtful and brilliant and Alex loves him, but sometimes he's a goddamn brat.

"Hey, come on," Alex says quietly. "I just--you and Laf and Herc and the Washingtons have all taught me that it's important to have other people. I don't think he has anyone."

"No, you're right," John mutters. "Even if he is a prick."

Alex probably shouldn't laugh at that, but he does. He reaches over and brushes John's hair behind his ear, gentle, placating. His hair is soft and tangle-free after an hour of Alex combing it with his fingers and his skin is still warm from his impromptu nap.

"I keep thinking about how shitty these few months would have been if I didn't have you," Alex says, quiet, sincere. "I mean, everyone, all of our people, but...you."

"Yeah, I get it. Being alone sucks."

"Yeah."

They sit like that for a few minutes. John doesn't say anything else, but Alex can practically see his mind working, his empathy warring with whatever it is that makes him raise his hackles around Burr. John will be the hardest to win over--Herc won't give a shit either way, and Laf doesn't _like_ Burr, but he doesn't share John's animosity. If he's got John on his side--and he does now, he's sure of it--then they're good.

Of course, Burr might not even _want_ to join them, but...well. One step at a time.

Washington shows up not long after, distracted as he sticks his head into the office.

"Gentlemen? Are you busy?"

"Nah, just talking," John says. He blinks up at him. "What's up?"

"I think I have a case that may interest you," Washington says. "I'll send you the details."

"Cool," Alex says. "We'll take a look."

"Thank you." Washington ducks out of the office and wanders into the lab, tapping something out on his tablet and muttering to himself--probably sending them the referral email. 

Alex turns to John and shrugs. "Work?"

"Work," John agrees. He pushes himself up off the couch with a groan and Alex grabs his bag and follows, biting back a grin.

"Your hair is still a riot, you know," he says. 

John curses, his hands flying up to his hair and patting at it futilely. "You're such a fucking shithead, you know that?"

"I do," Alex admits. John shoves him, but doesn't push him away again when Alex steps closer and slips an arm around his waist. "But I'm your shithead."

"For better or for worse," John agrees, and maybe he's not entirely awake yet, because his smile is far too earnest. "Come on, we've got work to do."

Alex has his arm around John and a potentially exciting case waiting for their perusal. There's a fresh pot of coffee, Laf is dancing in the corner with his headphones on as he works, there are assholes to eviscerate in his blog comments, and it's only eleven am. Alex can tell it's going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, many many words of feelings and a few words of ghosts stuck in between.
> 
> First and foremost, thank you to every single person who left a comment on this. This was a new fandom, a new format, and a weird as hell idea. I don't normally post WsiP, even finished ones, and I don't normally deal with the stress of waiting week to week to see if people will stay interested. It was SO gratifying, honestly. Every single comment on this is more and better than I could have imagined. My heart swelled over every one, honestly, and so many of them were so thoughtful and detailed and it meant a lot to me. I seriously have been living with this verse for almost a year, now, with very few people interested in hearing about it. Having people I could babble at a little in the comments was like opening a valve I've kept stuffed up for a long time. Seeing the same names over and over again was also so great--it made me feel so good to know that people liked it enough to read it every week AND tell me that they liked it every week AND not be weirded out by my slightly unhinged comment replies.
> 
> Like, honestly, I could write nine more paragraphs about how deeply grateful I am for all your kind words. I honestly didn't think anyone would read this at all, much less strangers ♥
> 
> As many of you have noted in comments, this is listed as part of a series. Because it is! If anyone wants a detailed roadmap/coming attractions, I'd be happy to provide, but for the immediate future, it looks like this:  
> 1\. I'm taking Monday off because I have all-day meetings and won't be at my computer to post until quitting time EST anyway.  
> 2\. Every Monday and Friday in October I'll be posting additional short stories/ficlets in this series! So more updates, through October, every week!  
> 2a. EXCEPT I only have seven stories written (well, I only have six stories written, but I know what the seventh is). So, if you have ficlet requests in this verse...feel free to fire them at me and we'll throw them against the wall and see what sticks.  
> 3\. After that, updates will be less frequently, tragically. In August, I changed the order that I want to post things, so I need to write a lot more before the next larger story is done. I won't start posting the next "big" story until it's fully drafted, so it might be a little while.  
> 3a. BUT, I usually take breaks from working on longer projects by writing ficlets, so feel free to send me prompts or whatever on tumblr, or share your thoughts or...whatever. I, traditionally, am not on tumblr much, but the fic exchange I run for X-Men fandom will be starting up soon, so I'll be around a lot more.
> 
> Thank you all again, so much. This was a really wonderful experience :) ♥


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